Things I Don't Tell My Friends: A GTA San Andreas Story
by swaggedoutkidd
Summary: Ryder wants more than money or Big Smoke is the lapdog for Cesar is keeping secrets from his best friend, Sweet won't tell anyone what happens behind Kendl is finally free of her protective older And CJ is catching feelings for someone he can't Contains violence and het/slash sex This is my very first fanfic; please
1. Chapter 1: Badlands A

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Grand Theft Auto franchise, any individual games, or its characters. **

**Sorry if the first two chapters are slow. It's just exposition. The real plot kicks in around chapter 3. Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 1: Badlands**

CJ rubbed his raw, aching wrists while shooting Frank Tenpenny a resentful glare capable of melting steel. "Just remember, Carl: We'll be watching," the older police officer warned. Tenpenny did not break his gaze on CJ until he had settled in the front passenger seat of the squad car. Eddie Pulaski revved up the engine, laughed at an inaudible joke of Tenpenny's, and sped down the dirt path. Dirt clods pelted CJ from the back tires and he flinched instinctively under the assault. As he watched the black and white cruiser disappear in a cloud of dust among the trees, CJ spotted Jimmy Hernandez studying him from the rear window of the car.

_'Fuckin' pigs!'_ the muscular black gangsta raged futilely. He hurled a dirt clod after the car, which landed only a few yards down the dirt road. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead and CJ examined his surroundings with a slight shiver. The police car had deposited him in a dense stretch of forest interrupted by a few large boulders and sheer rock walls erupting from the ground around him. The husky black never had ventured been outside a city in his life, but now he was surrounded by trees and rocks, and the temperature in the forest was dropping along with the sun over the steep hills. A deep, throaty clap of thunder shook the very earth from the opaque blanket of clouds overhead. _'Shit, gotta find somewhere to warm up, quick,' _he thought and headed down the path in the same direction as the squad car.

As he walked, CJ's rage warmed him from within like a furnace. With his two-faced, manipulative dealings, Tenpenny reminded CJ of the innumerable police officers he had encountered in his youth on the streets of Los Santos. Crooked and abusive, they used gangbangers like him to further their careers in one way or another and had no real desire to end the gang wars unless there was a direct benefit to themselves. _'Gotta take his ass out last, after I fuck up Pulaski and Hernandez. That motherfucker is why Moms is dead.'_

Pulaski was no better but he clearly was a man of limited imagination. All violence, but no cunning: While CJ could not like a man like Frank Tenpenny Eddie Pulaski was a short-sighted criminal with a badge who needed a Frank Tenpenny to lead him. _'What's that cat Hernandez' deal? Dude ain't really into the game like Pulaski or Tenpenny. He just ain't got no killer in him.'_ Except for one mildly threatening phone call Hernandez had made three days after CJ arrived in Los Santos, CJ never saw any aggression in the Hispanic officer. _'He might not be as bad as the other two, but that just means death's gonna come quick for him.'_

Another thunderclap and the rain poured torrentially. _'When I get out this situation and start taking motherfuckers out, C.R.A.S.H. ain't even gettin' the worst of it,'_ CJ thought as the wind relentlessly pounded chilling rain onto his chocolate skin. He was clad only in a black tank top, black track pants, and a pair of green sneakers. The elements were merciless in their assault on his husky frame and they were taking a toll on him, despite how tough he looked. Ryder and Smoke—that's who would pay the most. '_"You know how it is. Some people say they got love for you, then shoot you in the back." Wasn't that what you said, Smoke? "Some people say they saw a green Sabre doing the work." Couldn't keep your mouth shut, huh, Ryder? Just wanted to brag to everybody about how hard you were, didn't you? We'll see who's bragging when you got a slug between your fuckin' eyes, sherm head asshole.' _

Carl was determined to have his revenge on them all. His motive for revenge drove him up the sloping dirt road despite the wind lashing his face with raindrops that felt more like hail. The young gangsta wanted to make each of the betrayers pay and imagined gloating over each of their bodies as they took a last breath. _'Why, Ryder? Why, Smoke? Why'd you sell out on the Grove? We grew up together on the same street! You used to eat dinner with me, Moms, Sweet, Kendl, Brian. Fuck, you two were there at Brian's funeral even when I wasn't! We were family!'_ His chiseled body shivered involuntarily from the icy rain gliding along the contours of his muscular body, as lightning lanced the heavy clouds in the sky. _'Can't afford to get sick now. The first place warm I see, I'm going in there.'_

The burly black gangsta stopped at the top of a crest of road. He was near a well-crafted one-story wooden cabin, and although a four-wheel bike was parked outside the door, there were no signs of anyone at home. A few hundred yards away, he saw a freighter trucks parked beside stacks of logs like the ones he used to see traveling down the highway near Santa Maria Beach. The dirt road continued beyond the logs and freighter trucks, but CJ couldn't make out anything that far down the road.

Taking a calculated risk, the young gangsta strolled to the front door of the cabin and pounded on the door. "Hello?" _Knock, knock, knock. _"Is anyone in here?" _Knock, knock, knock._ "Hello?" _'Shit, if you ain't gonna answer, I guess I gotta teach you a lesson about being polite to people.'_ CJ hopped off the porch and within a minute of tinkering under the quadbike's console, had hotwired the vehicle and sped down the dirt road. He afforded one final glance back at the cabin but still no one had emerged from the house. _'Oh, well.'_


	2. Chapter 2: Badlands B

**Chapter 2: Badlands B**

_'Might be one person I can still trust in L.S. who could help me out._' CJ pulled out his cell and dialed an easily memorized number.

"Hola! Que pasa?"

"Cesar."

"CJ! Homes, where are you?" The burly black gangsta allowed a small smile to creep across his face at the enthusiastic greeting his best friend gave so freely. "I heard some serious shit went down under Mulholland Intersection. Como estas?"

He appreciated the Hispanic's genuine tone of concern but held back any expression of gratitude beyond the unseen smile. _'Who's to say Cesar ain't got something up his sleeves too?'_ "I'm alright. Is Kendl there with you?"

"Yeah. Hold on a minute."

The line went temporarily quiet, then Kendl's voice exploded into CJ's ear. "CARL LAMAR JOHNSON, JUNIOR, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN' ON?"

Despite the tense situation, CJ chuckled. Like their mother, Kendl only used any of her brothers' three names when she was mad in the way their moms got mad. When the boys had stayed out too late; when ambulance sirens were in the neighborhood and they weren't home; when they were out roaming with GSF for days at a time without checking in. "Glad to hear you too, sis."

"Carl, where have you been? Where are you? I don't know what's goin' on." Kendl sighed and her next words were choked by tears. "I haven't heard from you or Sweet since last night. Then Pitbull came by Cesar's house early this morning and said there was a shootout under Mulholland and GSF was dead…"

As difficult as it was, CJ tried to imagine himself in Kendl's shoes. _'First Moms, then Brian. If she lost two of us at once, God knows what she'd end up doing.'_ "Sis, I'm alright. I promise I'm alright."

Kendl plowed on, still crying. "No, Carl, I'm not! Pitbull took me and Cesar to your place in Glen Park and Moms' house and Sweet's house to get some things because we needed to clear out quick. We hadn't even got out of Moms' house before the Ballas came in, started taking over Grove Street and shooting anybody wearing green!"

"What? Fuck! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, bro." Kendl sniffled, and by her tone, Carl knew she was over the heaviest of her emotions. "Ryder was leading the Ballas around, taking out everyone wearing green. He's with them now."

"Nah, sis. Ryder might mess with C.R.A.S.H., but he don't rock the purple set." _'Even though I saw it for myself.'_ Carl thought bitterly. He shivered again but not just from the cold wind slicing through his tank top.

"Whatever you say, big brother. I know what I saw. And I saw Ryder shooting at me and Cesar and Pitbull like we were the f-ing enemy. We handled it though. Here's Cesar."

"Homes, what did you say to Kendl? She's crying!"

Carl ignored Cesar's tone of warning. His mind was connecting the dots; once the Ballas took over Grove Street, they would take over Grove Street's territories, de facto. That included El Corona. "Look, we can talk about that later. Right now, I need you to get Kendl somewhere safe."

"I don't know about that, homes. We kinda…We got some things to deal with right now."

"Put it on hold. Get my sister somewhere no Ballas, no GSF, no Smoke, Ryder, hell, not even Tenpenny can find her. Then you come meet me in-" The muscular black gangsta consulted the green highway sign, "—Angel Pine. Know where that is?"

"Yeah. I got a place out that way."

"Cool. And make sure Kendl's safe."

"Alright, homes. I'm on my way."

_'Man, never thought I'd say this. But I miss Los Santos,'_ Carl thought to himself almost seven hours later.

It was shortly after midnight, and the husky black sat in a booth at an all-night Cluckin' Bell. He had sought refuge there shortly after talking to Cesar, as the rain had all but disintegrated his black tank around the contours of his chiseled upper body. The change of season from summer to fall was more apparent in Angel Pine, as the temperature had dipped drastically following a heavy rainfall and many of the trees had shed leaves red or yellow leaves in the high winds. Fog crept over the town following the rainstorm and Carl was thankful to have gone to the restaurant for more reasons than one. After hours of sitting there, one of the cashiers behind the counter had brought the gangsta, who had shivered uncontrollably in the corner booth furthest from the door, a cup of hot coffee. "On the house," the blond freckled man had said with a mild country twang and a sliver of a smile.

CJ had maintained vigil at the restaurant's picture window, but every so often, he sensed the blond cashier's gaze fixed upon him. _'Even though I been wasting my life down at the gym, he better stop looking at me.'_ The beefy gangsta never looked in the cashier's direction because he had no intent of giving a misunderstood signal of mutual interest. As the minute hand on his face watch approached one a.m., CJ wondered earnestly if Cesar was going to come to his aid, or if he would have to do something many a gangsta before had resented to extricate himself from a horrible situation.

"Excuse me, sir?" Carl turned his head in the direction of the gentle country twang, spotted the cashier with a nervous expression on his face, and resumed his lookout. "I was just ending my shift here, and noticed you've been sitting here for some time. Looks like you're waiting on somebody."

"Yeah, I am," the husky black responded coldly.

"Well, if your sweetheart doesn't show up any time soon, I'd be much obliged to take you wherever you need to go, sir." The blond was taller than him but with a lanky build under overalls and a red T-shirt that suggested he had never played sports in his life. He had full lips under a spread of freckles covering his long, narrow nose and sloping cheekbones. The blond's face practically shone with desire as his eyes greedily roamed over the sharp definition of the beefy black's arms, pectorals, and deltoids. CJ stretched in the booth to run his hands over his cornrows, and the blond's eyes bulged.

_'Hell, if Cesar ain't coming, a player's gotta do something to get by.'_ "Well," CJ sighed, feigning surrender, "I guess I can't wait around for-"

CJ's phone rang again. "Where you at homes?"

He didn't have to fake his sigh of relief. "I'm at the Cluckin' Bell in the middle of town." Headlights illuminated the yellow chicken logo on the window as a cherry Savanna whipped into the parking lot. Carl shot a look at the blond cashier. "Hey man, that's my boy out there. Guess I'm covered for the night."

"Oh." The blond didn't mask his disappointment. "Well, if you're going to be in town for a while…" Carl generously allowed the blond to pull out a napkin and ink pen to write down his phone number and name. "I'm Jacob, sir." He proffered his hand.

The beefy gangsta took the napkin but ignored the extended hand. "CJ."

"Nice meeting you, Mr. CJ. Hope you'll give me a call sometime." _'When Tenpenny goes ice fishing in Hell, I'll call you.'_ The black stepped out the booth, around Jacob to avoid touching, and headed for the door. "He's a lucky man, sir!" Jacob called out before Carl stepped outside. The beefy black hesitated for a second and considered bashing the blond's teeth into his throat. Then he walked to Cesar's car and let the Cluckin' Bell door shut.

"'Sup, Ceese?" The two men tapped fists through the lowered driver's side window, and CJ climbed into the passenger's seat.

"CJ," Cesar breathed, "you're soaking wet!"

"Yeah, thought I would've dried out by now, but I guess not. C.R.A.S.H. left me in the middle of the woods with no raincoat or nothing. Fuckin' bastards." The beefy gangsta trembled involuntarily again and coughed throatily. "Man, I'm cold! Mind cranking on the heat?"

Cesar's hand, the color of toast, reached over and turned the knob on the Savanna's heating control. The husky black melted into the seat as the first blast of heat caressed his skin. "We're going to have to get you out those wet clothes when we get to my place."

Such a statement once sounded innocuous to CJ, but his guard was raised against everyone. He sat upright in his seat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, ese," Cesar said and clapped a hand on one of Carl's meaty shoulders. "I'm just saying, you need some dry clothes." The husky gangsta coughed again. "And maybe some soup. I got some at my place."

"Hope it's got heating." Carl coughed again, this time pain slammed his ribs.

"Si, hermano. It's not much, but it's mine."

**Cesar's POV:**

"He's a lucky man, sir!"

Cesar heard someone hurl the comment from the restaurant at CJ's back and watched his muscular friend pause at the door. The black gangsta struck an imposing sight even obscured by fog, and Cesar greedily took as much as he could. His black tank top clung to his skin and revealed every detail of his chiseled torso with an extra peek of bare skin because of a small hole near his waist line. CJ's black track pants couldn't conceal a bulge between his legs so hypnotizing, the lean Hispanic had to force his eyes to tear away. _'Can't look at another man like that. Madre taught us better than that.'_

"'Sup, Ceese?" Cesar inhaled a powerful musky scent mingled with the earthy stench of someone who'd been outdoors for a long time.

"CJ, you're soaking wet!" The lean Hispanic used it as another opportunity to rake his eyes over the muscular frame of his Black friend. From his full, thick lips to the enviable physique to the package between his legs (Cesar was ashamed to admit he noticed it wasn't a hard-on, just the flaccid weight of his friend's member), CJ was definitely an attractive man. _'Not that I care or notice. I'm with his sister. And we're two men. Not natural by any means.'_

"Yeah, thought I would've dried out by now, but I guess not. C.R.A.S.H. left me in the middle of the woods with no raincoat or nothing. Fuckin' bastards." When CJ coughed throatily, Cesar winced at the thought of his brother being sick. "Man, I'm cold! Mind cranking on the heat?"

Cesar silently berated himself for neglecting to turn on the heat sooner and immediately corrected the situation by cranking on the heat "We're going to have to get you out those wet clothes when we get to my place."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, ese," Cesar said and clapped a hand on one of Carl's meaty shoulders. Despite the innocent intent behind his words, the lean Hispanic was forgetting the ordeal his beefy black friend had experienced recently. _'If mi familia turned on me, I'd be aggressive too.' _"I'm just saying, you need some dry clothes." The husky gangsta coughed again and Cesar had to restrain himself from touching him. "And maybe some soup. I got some at my place."

"Hope it's got heating." Carl coughed again.

"Si, hermano. It's not much, but it's mine." During the brief drive to Cesar's house, he thought Carl was uncomfortable. Intermittent coughing fits aside, the husky gangsta did not speak until they were parked in front of Cesar's prefab home in an Angel Pine trailer park. The Azteca King clenched his jaw throughout the ride at the thought of his best friend—practically family—being so distant from him. Growing up the youngest of five sons had taught him too much about what he and other men thought and felt, and it was a time when men preferred to be silent. Cesar just didn't like the silence.

To fill the absence of words, Cesar turned on the radio. "Warm it up, Kane, warm it up Kane, warm it up Kane, warm it up Kane," a chorus of men chanted through the speakers. A heavy drizzle began to fall and the steady hum of windshield wipers soon added their voices. The Hispanic smoothly steered the red convertible into a lot of trailer homes and prefab homes off the highway exit. He noticed CJ scoping out the area, and grinned internally at the wisdom that had prompted him to buy this home. The trailer park had only two entrances, one off the highway and one on a main thoroughfare, so traffic was naturally limited. Located midway between Los Santos and San Fierro with access to the beach, Angel Pine was perfect for negotiations with the Triads of San Fierro. In addition, the house itself was so nondescript that it had been ideal for years of weapons trafficking on behalf of the Varrios Los Aztecas.

He parked in front of the one story house covered with metal siding and turned to Carl. "What do you think?"

"This is the place we're going to?"

"Yeah." The toned gangsta felt slightly wounded by the bluntness of the husky gangsta's words, for reasons that were incomprehensible to him. He practically felt CJ's piercing gaze sweep over the repaired window screens and the brand new screen door.

"I think anyone who sees this rathole wouldn't believe we're here." Cesar's internal grin fully deflated. He had hoped to impress Carl. "In other words," Carl continued without looking in the brown gangsta's direction, "it's perfect."

Cesar smiled proudly. "I thought so homes. Wait until you get inside!" The brown-skinned gangsta sprang enthusiastically from the car in the downpour and unlocked the front door. He waited for the black to saunter from the car before turning on the lights. "What do you think homes?"

The black's face openly expressed his awe. Cesar's tiny living room had a large green threadbare rug cast over the cheap linoleum floor. Two plush armchairs and a loveseat were arranged around a polished wooden cabinet containing a 14" screen TV and a tower with a stereo, 8-track player, and record player stacked atop each other on shelves. To the right of the living room, a kitchenette sparkled with a recent cleaning and each pot and pan gleamed in a wire rack over the shining metal sink. To the left of the kitchenette, a narrow hallway led to three rooms whose contents were concealed by heavy brown curtains on taut ropes. Cesar's entire house smelled fragrantly of Pine-Sol and bleach. "Damn, Cesar, this spot looks better than Moms' crib! What did you do to get a spot like this? Push yay or something?"

Even though he knew it was only in jest, the mock insulted Cesar. "Fuck nah, ese," he said proudly. "Aztecas only deal in weapons. Only putos deal with white." In his prideful streak, the Hispanic gangsta almost confessed that he had come to Angel Pine immediately after talking to CJ. He had spent hours cleaning every square inch of the prefab, planting traps for roaches, and stocking the prefab with food and clean linen. In his mind, Cesar clung to the pretense of preparing a safehouse for himself while his hands and heart had prepared a room for CJ as well. "Come on. Let me show you to your room."

Cesar led the way down the narrow hall to the three rooms. Two were adjacent to each other while the third stood at the opposite end of the house from the kitchenette. "That's the bathroom," he gestured to the room immediately to his right, "and that's the bedroom I normally use," he gestured to the room next to it. "And that one, that's your room." The lean Latino indicated with a nod of his head.

"Thanks, Ceese. Let me go ahead and get out these clothes before I get sick." When CJ scooted by him, Cesar suddenly appreciated how massive the black had become since he had returned to Los Santos. Acres of engorged muscle and broad deltoids like mountains made it impossible for Carl to walk down the hallway without turning sideways. And he forced himself to squeeze between the Hispanic and the faux wood-paneled wall. In the tight space between the slim brown body and the massive black one, CJ was so pressed in that his buff body brushed headily against Cesar's.

"Oh. Sorry, homes." _'What's that he's got on? Cologne? Deodorant? Shit smells good…'_ Cesar sucked in his already ripped stomach and in the few seconds of contact, inhaled deeply the musky scent of Carl's body. He felt every inch of muscle rub against his own and the detected the heavy mass in the front of the black's track pants graze the front of his Chinos. And his lean body stiffened, even in the least desirable areas.

_'What the fuck? Am I getting turned on by CJ? Mi hermano?'_ Cesar's breath hitched in anticipation of Carl's disgusted reaction and he glanced fearfully at the husky black. Carl had moved to the neatly made bed, the fresh rug, and the dusted furniture all arranged carefully in his room without noticing the Hispanic's apprehension.

"Damn, Cesar, you hooked it up for me!" A low, masculine groan drew Cesar's full attention and his hazel eyes studiously captured every movement as Carl peeled off his damp black tank. The husky black's swath of back muscles rippled as he peeled off the cotton fabric. Cesar's mouth gaped open in awe. "Ay, Ceese?"

"Si, homes?" Cesar's voice growled in a gruff whisper. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Sup, homes?"

"I'm kinda tired after the day I had. And I know you drove all the way out here, but…"

The Hispanic nodded dejectedly. "Yeah, I'm on my way out homes." _'Better leave anyway. I wouldn't want this to get any more awkward.'_

"Nah, it's not like that." CJ ran his hand over his tight cornrows. "I'm not trying to kick you out. I thought you'd want to stay overnight."

He turned to face Cesar. Chiseled, slightly asymmetrical eight-pack abs; sculpted pectorals like two plateaus atop his chest; and arms so swollen that the gun on CJ's left arm looked ready to fire. _'Damn, I'm still with this negro's sister. What am I thinking about his fuckin' dick for?'_ "Nah, homes. I think I need to go," the Latino said and looked away.

"Come on, Ceese. It's a long drive back to LS." _'Not as long as you think.'_ "And it's raining again. Just crash here."

The Hispanic risked another look at the black. CJ's face was impassive but his voice had a hint of longing need in it. Cesar's brothers would never have insisted that another man spend the night. _'But CJ ain't exactly like them, or anyone else from the Varrio.'_ "Ok CJ! I'll stay the night."

The husky black grinned. "Cool." Before shutting the curtain, he added, "Ay, I gotta do something really early in the morning. Want me to wake you up?"

Cesar kicked off his black sneakers. "Si, hermano, but I'm an early riser anyway. I'll probably already be up."

"Alright, Ceese," CJ chuckled and closed the curtain. The Latino turned off the lights and shuffled to his room, grateful that CJ hadn't inspected it. Behind the curtain, there was room for a water heater, a medium-sized outdoor grill, a crate of household cleaners, and pile of blankets. Cesar unbuckled and dropped his pants, peeled off his white tank, and stretched out the blankets on the floor to lie on them in only his white boxers.

The Hispanic had slept in tighter spaces but never with so much on his mind. A thin sliver of light stretched into the hallway from Carl's bedroom. Cesar heard the husky black's sodden pants hit the threadbare carpet and the squeak of bedsprings under the black's weight as he rested on the bed. _'Wonder if CJ sleeps almost naked too...Shit! This ain't the way to think about mi hermano.'_ Cesar turned and faced the wall. _'Gotta get some sleep. Just listen to the rain like when I was a kid, I'll fall asleep.'_ The Hispanic closed his eyes and tuned in his ears.

He heard a freighter horn on the road outside and the click of the light in CJ's room.

He heard a hooting owl in a tree somewhere and heavy footsteps followed by the creak of bedsprings in the black's room.

He heard a Sanchez in need of oil on the road and slow, rhythmic creak of bedsprings.

Before sleep disconnected Cesar from the world, his ears detected rapidly falling rain, a husky mutter, the rapid creak of bedsprings, and a man's guttural moan.


	3. Chapter 3: Body Harvest

**Disclaimer: I still don't own the rights. Rockstar Games does.**

**Chapter 3: Body Harvest**

**CJ's POV**

When he woke up the next morning, CJ immediately had two thoughts: _'I'm not home, and someone's cooking somewhere.'_

He sat upright and looked around the room. The scent of pine, which he recognized from car air fresheners, impregnated every molecule of air. Sunlight tiptoed through the sheer curtains on the window at the foot of the bed. Carl was taken aback the most by an almost inaudible street outside his four walls. Eager to get his bearings, the black gangsta swung his bare feet to the floor and padded through a heavy curtain clad only in his boxers. His confusion ebbed when he spied a shirtless Cesar cooking at a miniature stove in a kitchenette.

The events of the previous day struck Carl with an unexpected anger. And for that moment, he decided to direct it at Cesar. The beefy gangsta marched into the kitchen and yelled, "Cesar!"

The lean Latino whirled around and reflexively raised a sawn-off shotgun to CJ's face. The Black raised his hands in innocence and took two steps back. With the advantage of his muscle mass and seven extra inches, Cesar never had intimidated Carl, until that moment.

"Whoa, Ceese, I was just kiddin' with you. Put the gun down!"

Cesar blinked then lowered the gun to his side. "Sorry, CJ, but after all the shit that went down lately…I guess I'm a little bit jumpy."

"It's cool. I don't blame you."

"Yeah." Cesar turned off the stove and in five moves prepared a plate stacked with pancakes, thick-cut bacon, and eggs. "Here you go, CJ. You want coffee or orange juice?"

CJ flopped into the nearest armchair. "Coffee."

From one of the cabinets, Cesar pulled down a coffee percolator and a bag of coffee grounds. "You want cream or sugar or both?"

"I like mine black. When did you have time to put all this together?"

"You weren't the only one up early this morning." Cesar sat in the other armchair with his food in his lap. He handed CJ a mug of steaming coffee. "What were you doing this morning, ese?"

CJ failed to respond immediately. He had noticed Cesar's white boxers, the only clothing he wore, and could see the Latino's brown skin through the fabric. The boxers were tight and sheer. For some reason, they fascinated him; for that same reason, the beefy gangsta exercised self-control to avoid staring at them. "Uh…I had to put work in for Tenpenny and them."

"Fuckin' chotas! You workin' for them?" The incensed Latino stood and loomed over CJ. It gave the Black an opportunity to examine the details of Cesar's body. His ripped torso was covered in a fine layer of black hair. Cesar's slender upper body tapered to into a V at his bellybutton. The white boxers he wore were both tight and nearly sheer, so that the Black could study the outlines of his brown skin underneath.

_'No! I don't do that shit!'_ CJ reprimanded himself. Even when Grove Street members commented on his beefy frame, the Black felt uneasy with their eyes roving his body. He would not do it to another man. "Yeah I know. But I gotta work for them. They got Sweet in a prison hospital. If I do one thing wrong, they take out my family."

The Latino's gaze softened and he nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, homes. I know you wouldn't work for the pigs unless you had to." Cesar brushed his hand over his low-cut hair.

"It's cool, Ceese." Carl and Cesar polished off the rest of their breakfast in silence. When he reclined in the armchair with contentment, the husky gangsta noticed the slimmer one's surreptitious observation of the way his body rested in the chair. Hazel eyes grazed the contours of his chest and arms under half-closed long eyelashes.

_'Shit, my homie's just recognizing the way I'm swole.'_ It would be an affront to Cesar to question the other man's sexual preference, and CJ needed all the allies he could get. "What you gettin' into today?"

"Gonna head back to LS, take care of some things. What about you, homes?"

"Yo, Ceese, I don't think that's such a good idea. Maybe you should chill out here?"

Cesar stood up, gathered the empty dishes, and carried them into the kitchenette to wash. "Why you say that, homes?"

Carl noticed the way his best friend's eyes stayed lowered on the plates. Cesar was no shrinking violet, so something about his words had truly cut the Latino's feelings. He had to choose his words with tact. "LS is dangerous right now. What if something happened to you? I'd never forgive myself. Kendl neither."

"I understand that, CJ. I promise I'll be safe. It's just a business meeting. Don't worry!"

_'Can't lose Cesar the way I lost my moms and Brian. I wasn't there to protect them.'_ The brawny black stretched out his tense body. "Ay, Ceese, you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Nah, homes. Like I said, it's just business. Besides…" Something lit up the Hispanic's face. "Ay, CJ! I got some stuff for you in the trunk of my car!"

"Where your keys?"

"In my pants in my room. Ay, put your pants on and go take a look!"

CJ dashed to his room as quickly as possible in the narrow hallway. He sniffed his damp track pants and was immediately revolted by their musty smell. Even though her sons were gangbangers, Beverly Johnson never let them wear dirty, smelly clothes or eat from dirty dishes. "Ay Ceese! Can I borrow a pair of your pants?"

"Sure thing, homes!"

The husky gangsta went to Cesar's room and hesitated when he pulled back the curtain. He had anticipated a full-size room like his own. Cesar's room was cramped because the prefab's water heater and a large crate of cleaning supplies occupied the space. On one side of the room, Carl noticed that a ratty pile of blankets had conformed to the shape of the lean gangsta's body. _'Shit, Ceese. This is your spot, but you let me have the one bed in your own house? Man, you really care about a nigga.'_

Carl grabbed a pair of Cesar's chinos but his muscular frame barely fit into the slimmer gangsta's pants and removed the car keys within. Even with his considerable strength, he couldn't tug the waistline past the firm curve of his booty and had hardly enough room in the front to accommodate his sack and heavy length of black pipe, even if it was soft. _'Guess I just got too much dick for my own damn good.'_

Cesar was still washing dishes when CJ walked past him. The husky black popped the trunk and was in awe of all the stuff the Latino had packed. Carl had kept his moms' house stockpiled for a potential war with the Ballas with guns, but also money and clothes, in case he needed to run from the law for a while. Cesar and Kendl had grabbed Carl's AK-47, his Tec-9, and a sawnoff shotgun. Two plastic trash bags were filled with his clothes and shoes, and a third was filled with dollar bills. In addition, two suitcases at the back of the trunk rattled with bullets and ammunition. It took Carl three tips to bring everything in. _'Yeah, I'm gonna be set for whatever this Truth motherfucker and the pigs got me doing.'_

**Cesar's POV:**

CJ returned with the last of his bags of clothes. Cesar noticed the Black's beefy biceps bulged with the strain of the weight they carried. He watched his best friend set the clothes on the floor, alongside his other stuff, and squat down beside his belongings.

And Cesar watched.

Ripped thigh muscles like two hamhocks pressed against the fabric. The belt loops of the chinos sagged below the Black's waistline, stopped by the twin globes of his booty. Chiseled planes of Carl's back gave way to the rise of his booty, which peeked tantalizingly over the belt line. When CJ moved around his things, all his muscles seemed to move in graceful tandem. _'I don't like muchachos, I like muchachas,' _the Latino tried to reassure himself. But he couldn't look away.

Then Cesar glanced over his shoulder. He smiled, and Cesar spotted a chipped molar that only added to the Black's attractive facial features. "Ay, Ceese?"

The Latino swallowed the drool gathering in his mouth and shifted his gaze to the dishes in front of him. "Yeah, homes?" Swallowed again because he peeked at the waistline of CJ's pants again. Swallowed again because the Latino had fantasized about slowly trailing his limber, pink tongue over the curves of the Black's booty. Swallowed again because he wanted to caress it with his long brown fingers and weigh for himself CJ's member in his hand.

"Just wanted to say thanks. You taking a shower first?"

He could picture the beefy gangsta's sculpted body under the powerful jets of the bathroom showerhead. Water trickling along his granite pecs and rock-hard eight pack abs. Cesar imagined CJ's hand ghosting along his abs down toward the hefty length of his shaft, fondling it almost seductively as the Black soaped up. The Hispanic let himself slip into a daydream of watching the Black's hands scrubbing his member, a playful and inviting smile as it stiffened. It had to be a monster, from the way it looked huge even while it was soft.

_'I don't like muchachos. I like muchachas. I'm dating his sister.'_ "Nah."

"Cool." CJ stood up and dropped the borrowed pair of pants. "Don't know how you wear these, man. They just uncomfortable on me."

Cesar watched Carl confidently stride into the bathroom wearing only his black boxers. He was fully erect, just as he had been all morning while the Black tormented him with no shirt lean Latino closed his eyes and gripped the sink as Carl disappeared behind the curtain. _'I don't like muchachos. I like muchachas.'_


	4. Chapter 4: King In Exile

**Please ****forgive me if you speak Spanish and take offense to the way Spanish words or phrases are used. I'm not a native Spanish speaker and had to use a translation dictionary. WARNING: This chapter contains violence and hints of dub-con and underage sex.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: King In Exile**

**Cesar's POV:**

"Buenas noches, primo! Como es tu día?"

Cesar chuckled. His cousin Rico always spoke in a formal dialect, even if his conversation was informal. His mother was from Spain, but his father, Cesar's uncle, was from Mexico. Their only son stood 6'9" with gargantuan muscles, dusky brown skin, and neatly trimmed hair. He envied his older cousin for Rico's physique, which had developed long before his brief career as a high school linebacker.

The two men hugged each other in the waiting area of Unity Station. As usual, Cesar felt smaller than usual in his cousin's embrace. "Carnal, primo. I just drove in from Angel Pine." They sat side by side, and the lean Latino glanced around the waiting area. The two men were not meeting because of their familial ties. "Donde es tu comprador?"

Rico shrugged his broad shoulders then reclined on the wooden bench. "Don't know. Tal vez, La Rifa does business late. I'm early anyway."

"Cuando es temprano a ti?"

"Don't play me like one of those negro putas tu follas, primo." Rico socked Cesar in his shoulder, like he used to do when they were teenagers.

"Don't call my woman no puta, Rico. Kendl is a sexy, beautiful woman, pendejo."

"My bad." Rico scanned the waiting area. "You remember how we used to wrestle when we were kids?"

Cesar recalled the lessons with unease.

_'"This is called a suplex, primo." _

_'"I can't move! Ugh! Your thing is touching me! Get off!"_

_'"Make me get off, Cesar! Come on!"'_

"Yeah. You had just started football camp, and told me I needed to get stronger too."

"Because you was a scrawny runt then, primo. Eleven years old and no muscles! Look at you now."

"Yeah, I been hitting the weights with mi hermano CJ."

"Nothing's as good as wrestling though. Remember how we used to wrestle with our shirts off?"

_'"Look at that scrawny chest!"_

_'"Quit hittin' me, homes!" _

_'"Primo, you hang with those negros too much. You ever seen them with their shirts off? Or their pants?" _Cesar nodded. He remembered.

"Ay primo, I don't trust these fools."

"What's wrong? Just call up your boys and have them bring the ammo."

"Something ain't right about them."

"Don't you trust me, primo?" Rico had earned his trust time and again, summer after summer. In their furtive meetings at Rico's home, Cesar disclosed to the older boy secrets he shared with no others.

_'"I've never kissed a muchacha before." _

_'"Don't worry," Rico had said, "I'll teach you how to do it." They were shirtless that night in the attic because of the high West Texas heat.' _

Rico's phone rang, and he immediately answered it. "Hello?...Yeah….Uh huh…No, no necessito, no necessito….Si." He closed the phone and stood from the bench. "My boys from San Fierro, they waiting for us in the parking lot."

"Ok." Cesar followed his beefy cousin outside. Before they stepped through the doors, the lean Hispanic called his Azteca brothers to bring the car loaded with weapons and ammo to them. Three men wearing San Fierro Rifa turquoise and black leaned against a sage green Tampa. In the space beside them, three Aztecas in a lime green Savanna bobbed their heads in time to the beat of Kid Frost's "La Raza."

"Yo, Cesar." The driver of the Savanna motioned to the leader of the Aztecas. "I don't feel so good about all this. Maybe we should cut this deal short."

"Relax, Adan. My familia set this up. We can trust them."

Adan got out the car and popped the trunk. "Comprende, Capitan." Even though the Aztecas had no official titles, the younger gangstas deferentially referred to Cesar as their captain. He didn't object to it, as long as it kept disputes to a minimum.

All eight men gathered around the trunk. Four neatly arranged wooden crates rested inside. "Donde es our dinero?" Adan demanded of Rico.

Rico stepped forward and leaned into the trunk. Cesar studied both his cousin and the Rifa. He was still caught off guard when the gunshot echoed through the parking lot, and Adan sagged to his knees with a bloody hole in his stomach.

Everything was a blur from then on.

Cesar remembered sprinting through Unity Station at top speed as bullets whizzed by him. He fired a few rounds from his own gun, a silencer, but didn't stop running to make sure the bullets hit. He would recall for years seeing Javier, Adan, and Perro all go down protecting him, their leader, as he ran. In his nightmares, he would recollect blood gushing from Adan's head, and Javier promising to provide cover while bleeding copiously from his leg. Perro stood guard at the doors to Unity Station and was riddled with bullets intended for Cesar.

They died because of him.

He didn't remember getting into his car or driving through downtown Los Santos. The Rifa chased him in an armored car, but an experienced race junkie like Cesar Vialpando never hopped a curb or hit another vehicle. _'Gotta get home, get my warriors together, and eliminate these vatos.'_ Cesar's cell phone rang on the seat beside him. "Hola?"

"Como estas, primo!"

Cesar gripped the wheel in anger. "Rico, you fuckin' puto!"

_'"You be the girl, primo, and I'll be the boy." _

_'"I thought you was going to teach me how to kiss? __I __should be the boy, pendejo."_

_'"Nah, Cesar, I gotta show you how a man kisses his lady first, comprende? Gotta show you how to make a woman feel good."'_

"Where you going, huh, primo? You going home to El Corona?"

"Yeah, and I'm gonna blast you to meet El Dios y tu padre, motherfucker!" Cesar pulled a sharp left in front of the police precinct. He was almost there.

"You wasting your time, primo. You ain't got no home, no gang, no familia no more."

Rico's words settled into Cesar's heart with an icy chill. "Que?"

_'"See, cousin, you get hard when you kissing a girl porque it feels good. You want to fuck her, see her panocha, taste it. Makes you hard just thinking about it, huh?" _

_'"Yeah, Rico, but I'm a boy! Why am I getting hard from kissing __you__?" _

_'"It's not wrong, cousin. See? I get ereccion too."' _

"You think Rifa was just taking you out, primo?" Rico chuckled cruelly. "Nah. Ballas, Rifa, and Vagos, we taking out all the Aztecas. You got nowhere to go, Cesar!"

"Fuckin' pig!" Rico exploded with laughter. As Cesar sped into the Verdant Bluffs neighborhood, he spotted groups of Hermes and Tornadoes classic cars blocking every street leading from his block. A fierce gunfight was winding to a conclusion in the middle of the street. The Aztecas were few against an army of dozens of Vagos and Rifa soldiers.

"It doesn't have to be like that, primo."

"What you mean?"

"Let's just say someone higher up wants you to live and put in work for them."

_'"Rico, Rico, Rico! I kissed a girl for the first time!"_

_'"Bueno! Did you get her panocha mojada?"_

_'"Um, I don't know."_

_'"Let me show you what to do to get that sweet polvo. You gotta kiss and touch her just right, just like I'm touching you, primo."_

_'"No lo creo, primo. This feels weird."_

_'"Suavizó Cesar. Just follow my lead. Put your hand right here."_

_'"No, Rico. I don't want to do it no more."_

_'"Be quiet and do what I say. You gonna get so much polvo."'_

Cesar's ire rose to a feverish pitch. "Fuck no." He reached into his passenger seat as the Savanna approached the end of Willowfield at the highway that stretched from Santa Maria Beach to Las Venturas. The Azteca leader opened his driver door, leaned out, and as he steered the car onto the highway, expertly shot out the front tires of the armored truck with three shots. Cesar hung up the phone to the sound of Rico's violent curses and laughed to himself.

Then a bullet pierced his left shoulder blade.


	5. Chapter 5: First Date

**Warnings: This chapter contains slash smut, het smut, racial slurs, and really bad Spanish on my part. You've been warned. If you can't stomach it, don't read.**

**Chapter 5: First Date**

**Ryder's POV:**

"You mean to tell me that dirty chulo motherfucker got away from you chumps? Huh? Is that what you're saying to me?" Ryder stared at Rico and his fellow Rifa lieutenant Angel. Rico was 6'9". Angel was 6'4". Ryder was 5'6". Both men quaked in fear of Ryder's wrath. Despite his diminutive height, the Black knew he could present an imposing figure when he was enraged.

The three men stood in the living room of Ryder's house on Grove Street hours after concluding Ryder's plot to eliminate Varrios Los Aztecas. Willowfield was now Ballas territory, while El Corona and Verdant Bluffs were in the possession of the LS Vagos.

The operation had seized over two thousand MP5s, four hundred shotguns, and two thousand AK-47s, as well as uncounted 9mms, Desert Eagles, and Tec-9s, and a stockpile of ammunition for the weapons as well. Ryder hadn't disclosed the seizure to the leaders of the Vagos because the one thing he wanted captured in the extermination of the Aztecas had eluded him. _'Can't explain that to them either.'_

Angel cleared his throat. "See, homes, he drove off too quickly, and…"

THWACK! Ryder slammed the business end of his favorite aluminum baseball bat into Angel's left kneecap. Rico winced as the other Latino collapsed to his knees cursing in pain. "Look here, you refried beans and taco eating motherfuckers, I don't care how fast he was driving! You should've snatched his ass or capped his ass!" He kicked Angel in the shoulder for good measure. "I oughta kill your punk ass right now."

A small female voice on the other side of the room said, "Uh, maybe I should leave now?"

Ryder turned to the woman. She was a woman with classic beauty but dressed like a hooker in daisy dukes shorts and kitten heeled black leather boots. The woman had removed her "I Love LS" cutoff shirt to arouse Ryder with her ample bosom, and her mocha-colored skin gleamed with sweat from dancing to make the drug kingpin get an erection.

_'I finally got this bitch in my house, strippin' and dancin' for me, and these motherfuckers gotta ruin my party. Shit, she was only on my jock because I got the drug game locked down anyway.'_ "Yeah bitch, gone get outta here."

"Am I gettin' paid or…." Ryder lunged at her with the bat. The woman shrieked and ran out his house, covering her nude breasts. "Alright, alright!"

Ryder turned back to the Hispanic gangstas. They were gaping at the woman's booty as it jiggled out the door. "You see that? You stupid chulos interrupted me while that fine bitch was giving me the best skull I've had in a minute. I needed that shit."

He stared at Angel's reddened face and Rico's light brown skin. _'Niggas like them don't understand what a nigga like me gotta do to get one bitch, much less all the pussy they get. Pretty boys, both of them. Nice hair, sweet lips, all cut up and shit from hittin' the gym. I'ma make these motherfuckers understand.'_

The Black pulled out two Desert Eagles from his sagging jeans and turned off the safety. Then he unfastened his pants and let them sag to his knees. "Both of you burrito eating assholes get on your knees and suck my dick, or I'ma kill you, alright?"

**CJ's POV:**

"Nice not doing business with you!" Catalina declared when the truck company owner handed her a large paper bag bulging with money.

"If you ever want to haul some freight and make some quick cash, just come back and talk to me," the trucker said over her shoulder to Carl.

"I'll do that," CJ promised. The truck stop owner returned to his office, and the husky Black joined Catalina at the roadside. "Ay, where to now?"

"Take me home!" _'If this bitch didn't have an easy plan to make some quick money…'_ Carl shouldered his shotgun. "First of all, where's my cut?"

The Latina spitfire opened the paper bag and handed the Black three stacks of money. Carl estimated she had given him $1500. "There you go, loverboy! Now take me home!"

CJ stepped into the road and an oncoming brown and white Rancher squealed to a stop. He opened the driver's side door and yanked out a heavyset blonde in a pink sundress. "This is just a jacking, don't make it into a murder," he warned. As Catalina climbed into the passenger's side and began issuing directions, the terrified blonde ran across a stretch of farmland.

"Hey, you think we could hit another target today?" Carl asked as he steered the car toward Blueberry.

"Mmm. I like your way of thinking." Catalina licked her lips and batted her eyes in a way she must have thought was sexy. The beefy Black just assumed she had chapped lips and something caught in her eye.

"Yeah. I kinda need the money."

"Oh, I don't think you in it just for money. Turn here!"

They were heading toward Dillimore now. "No, I'm serious. I'm really desperate."

"I bet you are, Carl. I got what you desperate for, maricon."

"Whatever. We gonna go rob some more shit or what?"

Catalina caressed her ample bosom with her hands and moaned gently. "You such a handsome, strong man, Carl Johnson. The way you shot those idiota pigs…" She slid her hands lower to massage the flat plain of her stomach. "The way you handled that tanker…" Her right hand ghosted over the waistline of her track pants, and her left hand played with her breasts. "Mmm, Carl!"

The husky Black averted his eyes from the road to watch Catalina's performance. The Latina had loosened her track pants and slipped her hand inside. She moaned ecstatically as her right hand worked diligently. _'Crazy bitch is fuckin' herself!' _

Catalina's eyes shuddered close. Her body trembled passionately in the throes of her own stimulation. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her mouth opened for desperate gasps of air. _'This shit is actually kinda hot,'_ Carl thought as his member stiffened in his jeans.

"Oh, Carl. Oh Carl!" Catalina gasped. She cut her eyes at him seductively through half-closed lids. "Do you like what you see, eh? Does a woman's pleasure arouse you?" Catalina cut her eyes to the prominent bulge in the Black's jeans and whimpered lasciviously. "I see that it does. I can take care of both of us, if you will let me."

**Cesar's POV:**

It was just after sunrise when Cesar steered his car down the main street of the hamlet of Blueberry. His car was almost out of gas, and he had driven for six straight hours at a moderate speed to avoid the attention of the Red County sheriffs with the top up and no air conditioning. With his feverish sweating and the hasty tourniquet made from a strip of his Homies T-shirt, the last thing Cesar needed was a sheriff pulling him over.

The Latino warrior knew he desperately needed medical attention. He could have stopped in Montgomery or driven straight to Angel Pine for treatment. But one thought alone had kept him awake and sane for the last six hours of driving, to endure the pain of removing the bullet himself, to endure the burn of the whiskey Cesar had used to cleanse the wound.

He had to see Kendl.

When Carl had called after the shootout under the Mulholland Intersection, Cesar had packed Kendl's luggage and driven her to the town of Blueberry. It was as far removed from Los Santos as he could imagine, and his brother Joaquin had rented an apartment there before starting to have children. The emergency of the situation had sidelined their argument for the moment, but they had not spoken during the ride there or in the last two weeks.

Cesar had laid down a year's worth of rent for her. He had bought cleaning supplies, groceries, and guns for her. He had chivalrously carried everything into the fully-furnished apartment for her. But Kendl had not spoken to him that whole day.

Before he had driven off, Cesar had handed her the three words Kendl had been eager to hear for their entire courtship in the hope of eliciting some emotion from her.

Kendl had regarded him sadly, then had shut the door behind her.

_'She knows I still love her. She has to. She's mi corazon. I can't live without her.'_

Cesar stopped at a barber shop next to Ammu-Nation and paid extra for his tapeline to be redone before the barber opened. He picked a bouquet of flowers from a field on the outskirts of town, changed his sweaty, bloody shirt, and dabbed on the last bit of Bouche cologne in his glove compartment. He parked at the Ammu-Nation across the street and double checked himself in the rearview mirror before stepping out the car. One of the things he liked about Kendl's apartment: No one could park close to the building and attack her.

Before he crossed the street, Cesar spotted Kendl exiting the apartment complex. She was a vision of loveliness in a bronze colored sundress that flattered her flawless ebony skin. Kendl always wore very little makeup, and only her eyes showed any sign of extra attention. Her hair flowed down her back in a fresh set of silky braids. Cesar's heart literally began to race.

Then a man, who was not Cesar, walked up to her and wrapped his right arm around her slender waist.

**Ryder's POV:**

"Yeah….Just like that…Oh shit yeah, that's it, choke on that motherfucker."

Ryder leaned his small frame against his living room wall. His eyes were closed in bliss and his hips were lightly thrusting his 9" wood into Rico's mouth. The Hispanic slurped and sucked with abandon, while his fellow lieutenant, Angel, caressed the Black's sack with his long pink tongue.

"Ooowee, you chulos should get paid for this shit." Rico's strong hands gripped Ryder's hips as the Hispanic bobbed his head up and down Ryder's length. The small Black opened his eyes and watched a trail of saliva trickle from Rico's full soft lips onto the Latino's bare chest. Angel leaned in and suckled the side of Ryder's shaft while his tongue made contact with Rico's lips.

_'Shit that's hot. Maybe I could put them to work for real. Plenty of white freaks up in Vinewood wanna get some sweet Hispanic ass.'_ Rico plunged the full-length of Ryder's member into his mouth. The Black gangsta's mouth dropped open in shocked pleasure and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Angel simultaneously started humming while stroking Ryder's sack with long, fluid strokes of his fat tongue. _'Ooo, shit! Nah, I think I'ma keep these eses for myself!' _

He stroked the back of Rico's straight black hair. "Hair so soft, you almost feel like a bitch for real. Yeah, you're a bitch alright, hear that?" Ryder held his one of his Eagles to the side of Rico's head while he forced the Hispanic's mouth further down his shaft. Rico trembled with fear all over. "You're my bitch. Suck it up real good bitch, I'm finna bust!"

Ryder's hips bucked faster. Rico barely pulled off the Black's rock hard, pulsing shaft before the first explosion of semen erupted onto his face. Even as he climaxed, the smaller gangsta seized Angel's hair and angled his face so that his seed skeeted all over both of their faces.

**CJ's POV:**

"You have such a beautiful carajo," Catalina purred as she lowered her mouth onto CJ's semi-erect manhood.

Carl moaned as she flickered her small, wet tongue on the head of his heavy, fat member. The truck windows had fogged up while he drove to Catalina's hideout. The Latina spitfire continued to moan and pant over his shaft, one hand stroking him, while the other hand stroked between her brown thighs.

_'Damn, it's been a minute since I had a woman go down. And ain't no woman ever done it like this before. I ain't even gotta put my mouth on her!'_

"Oh, Carl, your carajo, mucho grande. Maybe I someday give to you as a woman, yes? And you play with me rough, pound my sweet little pulvo?" Catalina gasped. Carl sat up to watch the dexterity with which the Latina stimulated herself and saw a small puddle of juice soaked into her seat.

Catalina began to gag on CJ's swelling length. The husky gangsta had never met a woman who could deepthroat his 13" long, beer-can wide pipe, and Catalina was no exception. Unlike other women though, she seemed to thrive on torturing herself by repeatedly attempting to suck more and more of his length. She didn't stop when his hips began to thrust upwards. She didn't stop when she only accommodated 1/3 of his shaft before groaning in pain. She kept trying to push more into her mouth.

_'Bitch is crazier than a loony bin, but she's a freak alright.'_ The Latina moaned passionately from her vigorous masturbation. Carl leaned back in the seat and watched her thighs tremble violently, her fingers sinking deeper into her shaved wetness. Then the Rancher hit a bump on the road. The Black's member thrust deeper into Catalina's mouth, and the Latina moaned with greater pleasure than before. She was climaxing, her orgasm gushing onto the seat beneath her.

It was too much stimulation. Carl released his seed into Catalina's mouth with a body-rattling roar and relaxed onto his seat.

Then he felt a sickening wetness on the front of his red Suburban jeans. "What the…?"

"Ugh, maricon! What do you think I am?" Catalina smacked him on the back of his head. "One of your whores? No! I do not drink from your carajo, you stinking negro!" She spat the last of his seed into Carl's face, then opened the door of the truck and exited.

_'Crazy bitch! That's the last time I let you see my dick!'_ CJ promised himself as he zipped up.

**Cesar's POV:**

Cesar stormed across the street. Kendl spotted him almost immediately, but her countenance showed no joy at seeing him. "Who the fuck is this pendejo?"

He noted that the man embracing Kendl was also Hispanic. Everything about him seemed to be better than the Azteca king. The other man's skin was five shades lighter than Cesar's. He was several inches taller. His textured black hair was flawlessly maintained. His teeth were white, perfect, and even. The man's linen suit screamed money. And he had an advantage of a frame that was muscular without being as slim as Cesar or as husky as Carl. "I am Fernando Martinez, and I take that as an insult."

Kendl put her hands on her hips, while Cesar tried to place the man's familiar voice. "Cesar, what the fuck do you want?"

"Who is this puto?" Cesar assessed him with a quick up-and-down glance. "I don't trust him to be alone with you. He's got rapist written all over him."

"I take that as an insult as well," Fernando said. He stepped between Kendl and Cesar. "I have never needed to rape a woman. Some women have wrestled with the intensity of their passions for Fernando, and have said no. But in the end, they always submit. Especially when Fernando slips the white powder into their drinks at dinner and drives them home."

Cesar snapped his fingers. "I've heard you on the radio before when I was a kid! Emotion 98.3, down in Vice City! I used to visit my cousin down there."

Fernando smiled. "Yes, that was me, Fernando Martinez, riding the airwaves like a cheap floozy."

Cesar grabbed Kendl's arm. "Like I said, this guy is a rapist. Come on."

Kendl snatched back her arm before they stepped into the street. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Cesar. Fernando is my breakfast date. We're co-workers, and I don't mix business and pleasure."

The Azteca warrior ignored Fernando's disappointed expression. "Co-workers? Where are you working?"

"I just got hired for WCTR's marketing department." Cesar started to wish her congratulations, but Kendl held up a hand. "I'm a grown woman, and I know who he is and what he's about. At least _he_ never lied to me."

"Kendl, baby, listen…."

The sassy Black woman shook her head. "No, Cesar, you and I are _through._ I'll pay you back all the money for the rent you paid for me when I get it. And the food and guns too. But you have no more right to criticize my decisions."

She wrapped her arms around Fernando's sinewy right one. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a breakfast date. Goodbye, Cesar."

* * *

**Regarding the slash in this chapter, I know it's totally OOC for Ryder. But there is a reason for it, and I'll explain that reason in the next update! And there will be more slash and het smut.**


	6. Chapter 6: Gone Courting

**Author's Warning: This chapter contains pre-slash, offensive language, violence, hints of incest and references to dub-con and non-con man-on-man rape. Do not read if you cannot stomach it.**

**Chapter 6: Gone Courting**

**CJ's POV:**

"…following a shootout between Grove Street and Ballas street gangs. Johnson is facing charges of murder, racketeering, arson, assaulting a police officer, and unpaid parking tickets. Johnson's public defender, Eugene Vankurupt, had this to say:

"'My client is innocent, I tell you, innocent! He had four unregistered guns on him when he was arrested, but they were all self-defense weapons. Have you seen our streets lately? Everyone has a gun! If you don't have a gun, you need to buy one! What was I saying now….Oh yeah, the D.A. won't charge him with possession of an unregistered gun. Where's the gun possession charge? There's no justice in this town. Sean Johnson didn't murder _anybody_! He's innocent of all charges!'

"In other news, the D.A.'s office has launched an investigation against Attorney Eugene Vankurupt for drug possession, drug distribution, child pornography, racketeering, auto theft, and unpaid parking tickets. Vankurupt had no comments.

"Now that bridges have re-opened between Los Santos and San Fierro, it's time for the seasonal Beat the Cock Race! Beat the Cock fans from all over the state…"

With a frustrated snort, Carl turned off the radio and began to pace the living room of his newly acquired farmhouse. _'Man, I spent the last two weeks worrying about Cesar and his loco cousin, and I forgot all about Sweet!' _ the husky Black berated himself.

Two weeks earlier, Cesar had driven into Angel Pine, sweating feverishly and mumbling deliriously. CJ noticed his best friend's shoulder gunshot wound just before the Azteca warrior collapsed in his arms while exiting his car. The Black had rushed him to the Angel Pine Medical Center, where the doctor on call had seen enough hunting-related gunshot wounds in his careers to specialize in them. _'"His tourniquet stopped the bleeding from the wound, but if you hadn't brought him here within a day or two, infection was going to set in. With infection comes blood poisoning and when blood poisoning sets in, we just let the patient die,"'_ the doctor had told him.

Cesar mumbled something inaudible in his sleep, and Carl heard the sound of the Latino's body moving on the bed. _'I could've lost you, Ceese. With all the medications they got you on and the bed I got so you wouldn't have to sleep on that pile of rags in your crib, you just need to rest.' _Carl walked onto the front porch, determined to cease his interruptions of the Hispanic's much needed rest.

He sat heavily on the front stoop and clasped his hands over his head. The same day Cesar was put in the hospital, Carl had purchased the farmhouse with some of the money Kendl had recovered for him. The Grove Street gangsta still had plenty of funds. _'Sweet's about to go to jail and they tryin' to silence his attorney too. Shit! I gotta do something. Ain't no used sittin' around here feelin' sorry for myself.'_ His stomach rumbled. _'Might as well get some eats before I go crazy on an empty stomach.'_

The buff gangsta pushed himself to his feet and started walking toward the lone gas station in Angel Pine, on the other side of town. His skin color alone drew the attention of other pedestrians, but his chiseled bulk attracted lingering, lustful looks. In the two weeks without access to a gym, Carl had maintained his physique with a daily regimen of push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and boulder pushing at the foot of Mount Chiliad early every morning. The workouts were exhaustive but they were working.

At the gas station, Carl bought as much soda, chips, snack crackers, and candy as he could with $20, the only cash he had brought with him. _'Still tryin' to get my energy back from that pussy Catalina put on me last night! Ooowee! I'm not crazy about that rack shit, but it was worth that whippin'.' _

Carl smiled to himself as he exited the gas station. His smile faded almost instantly when he spotted Jacob, the Cluckin' Bell employee from his first night in Angel Pine pumping gas into a blue Walton. The blond hadn't looked in CJ's direction. _'That's the last motherfucker_ _ I want to talk to right now.'_ With some difficulty, the husky gangsta concealed himself behind a propane tank outside the store and waited for Jacob to drive away.

Then he spotted a blue Voodoo pull into the pump beside Jacob's pickup. _'That's a Grove Street car right there.'_ A man dressed in a skin-tight black tank top, sagging green jeans, and brown boots stepped out the car, a green rag knotted about his mountain of curly hair. Carl couldn't see the man's face. _'That's Grove Street right there. Bet that motherfucker is lookin' for me and Ceese.'_

**Sweet's POV:**

_'Ninety-eight….Ninety-nine….One hundred!' _ Sweet Johnson panted as he concluded his morning workout in his prison cell. The Grove Street don wiped off the sweat from his face, neck, and chiseled torso with a white prison-issued tee.

With the workouts he performed in his cell and on the prison yard, Sweet's body had recovered a six-pack and his broad chest within days of his release from the prison hospital. His body hadn't undergone an amazing transformation like Carl's when he had returned to Los Santos, but he was slimmer and more chiseled than the gangsta had been in years. _'When I get out this bitch, hos gonna be on me like flies on shit.'_

The sound of a buzzer filled the corridors of the maximum security facility, as the cells of Sweet's block simultaneously opened. The Grove Street don pulled on a clean white T-shirt and grabbed his shower toiletries. In a prison filled with Vagos, Ballas, San Fierro Rifa, and Russian mafia, the Grove Street king had few allies and even fewer people he trusted. Almost everyone in San Andreas' premier incarceration center knew he had been imprisoned without a sentencing hearing, so his status as a marked man was undisputed. In only seventeen days of confinement, Sweet had been involved in 31 fights. _'At least I ain't dead, or been raped yet, and I ain't gonna be as long as I'm breathing,' _the Grove Street king thought as he joined the line to the shower.

Naked white, Black, and Latino men communed together in the small, steamy room. Their bodies were a spectrum of colors and sizes, from lean behemoths nearly seven feet tall with their manhood swinging proudly like clubs to short, squat Russians covered with body hair and a cloak of natural musk. Each man in the line had to disrobe in front of the guards. Some did so proudly with pointed looks at the men in uniform. Others, especially the younger man, tried to conceal their goods and still project an impenetrable air of defiant masculinity.

Sweet noticed his least favorite guard, a White man with the retired, thickening build of a football player, stood at the head of the line and used his club to force any shy prisoner's hands from his goods. _'These motherfuckers in here to get some ass. Just hungry for some dick. That ain't never gonna be me, bending over to be some nigga's shower bitch.' _

He easily found an unoccupied shower. It was near the exit in case Sweet needed to escape, but far enough from the guards that Sweet's naked body wouldn't be visible. The Grove Street king turned on the hot water and let his length dangle freely between his legs as he began to lather up. He unconsciously always started with his sinewy arms, then worked his way in concentric circles to his shoulders and wide ebony chest. Sweet never closed his eyes in the shower, aware of certain men who roamed the showers for a shower daddy. _'That ain't gonna be me either, I love pussy too much.'_

As his skilled digits worked their way down his sculpted stomach, Sweet heard a man's soft moan from somewhere behind him. It wasn't uncommon for the gangsta to hear a man's suppressed screams or the sounds of flesh smacking flesh in an aggressive act of sex or a violent fight, but the Grove Street had never heard a man moan like that. His member twitched.

A second, longer moan, filled with desire, pleasure, and intoxication hit Sweet's ears, and his shaft began to harden. A few men on the other side of the wall chuckled. The moans became more rhythmic.

_'It's been a long time since I got some pussy or some head,' _Sweet thought. _'Ain't jacked off in weeks. My dick needs this.'_ Sweet's hands languidly drifted around his Black manhood and began to stroke it to full hardness. Although the Grove Street don lacked the muscularity of his younger brother, Sweet had seen CJ's erection on a few unbidden occasions, when Carl was in the bathroom as a teen and didn't lock the door. Sweet chuckled to himself when he recalled his brother's terrified reactions. He knew that in a side-by-side comparison, the older Johnson surpassed the younger by inches in length but with similar girth.

As the Grove Street don pumped his shaft in time with the moans, CJ's well-carved physique stayed in his mind. _'That's some sick shit, thinkin' about my little brother naked. Gotta have a bitch in there, come on Sweet. Don't let prison turn you into a faggot.'_ Sweet thought of the pop singer Rochell'le bent over before Carl, her juicy, hot mouth wrapped around the head of his little brother's shaft. '_The R&B singer pumped CJ's shaft with her eager mouth. Carl, his head thrown back against a wall in pleasure, wrapped his fingers in her blond pigtails and forced more of his Black dick in while Sweet watched from the sidelines. The room was thick with the smell of Rochell'le's bared, shaved pussy.' _

"That's it, little bro. Represent for the Grove," Sweet mumbled as his eyes closed.

_'The R&B singer hummed musically as saliva trailed from her mouth. She swiveled her hips erotically while drinking in the younger Johnson's naked body. CJ was close to cumming. Rochell'le's glasses slid off, and she looked up at Carl with her big blue eyes. "Drink my cum, bitch," Carl hissed.'_

"Mira, what have we got here?"

Sweet's eyes shot open as a fist connected with his right cheek. He stumbled backwards, and before the Grove Street king could recover, fists were assailing his face and torso with abandon. When the blows ceased, Sweet was slumped against the floor of the shower, blood flowing from his face to the water. He assessed the scene before him.

Five Latino gangstas stood over him in a half-circle. Two were fully clothed, but the other three, the ones who had attacked him, were as nude as if they had just showered. All five were decorated with tattoos and shaved heads. Their lean but intimidating bodies barred any route of escape with folded arms and scowling faces. Sweet was determined to represent the Grove until the end. "What's it look like motherfucker? A tub of puddin'?"

"Nah," said the tall, naked Latino who had spoken before, "looks like a Grove Street pulvo."

Sweet watched in horror as the three naked Latinos began to stroke themselves to full hardness. Their thick brown uncut members were prime for pain if allowed inside an unwilling man. Sweet pushed himself to his feet and started to launch a final assault, but the two clothed Latinos rained more punches upon Sweet's face and torso before he could stand upright. They slammed the Grove Street don against the shower wall so hard, he saw stars before his eyes. His ears began to ring. The pressure of their arms restrained him from moving.

A tall man's naked body pressed against Sweet's bruised one. The Black flinched from the pressure of a man's erection against his virgin anus. "Relax, puto. It'll only hurt the first time."

**Cesar's POV:**

The slam of the front door startled Cesar into full consciousness. The Azteca warrior seized his Desert Eagle from beneath his pillow and aimed it at his bedroom door in one swift motion. Heavy footsteps resounded through the farmhouse from the living room. Cesar knew those footsteps too well for them to belong to an intruder. "Ay homes? Que pasa?" he called through the door.

Carl opened the bedroom door. Cesar noticed the husky black had soaked his Rockstar sweater with sweat, and the damp places clung to the gangsta's peaked nipples as he panted for air. Two sawn-off shotguns dangled from the Black's hands. "Were you followed from LS to Angel Pine, Ceese?"

"No, no one followed me here, homes." _'Not even Kendl,' _Cesar thought. _'And now I'm staring at her brother with deseo.' _

"Just spotted GSF at the gas station off the highway, Ceese." Carl clicked the chambers into place. "So you fucked up some kinda way."

Cesar's lustful thoughts were quickly replaced by indignation. The Latino launched himself from his bed in gray sweatpants and white socks. "Tonto del culo, I did not fuck up. I told you nobody followed me. Why I gotta lie? You think I'm estúpido or something?"

Someone knocked on the door before the Black could answer. Carl crept to the door with his shotguns raised to chest level by his beefy arms. Cesar followed him with the Desert Eagle still in his hand. The Latino cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. "Who is it?"

"Pitbull. Kendl sent me here from Blueberry Acres," a baritone voice responded.

The Azteca warrior's heart plummeted to his stomach. _'Pitbull's the last pendejo I want to see right now. If he saw Kendl and she still sent him here, she really doesn't love me no more.'_ Carl jerked his head in the door's direction, indicating that it was Cesar's responsibility to open the door, while the Black gangsta stealthily walked to the right side of the door, guns still held at chest level.

Cesar unlocked the door.

CJ blinked coldly but his mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Anyone else out there with you?"

"Nah, playboy. I shook all them Ballas like we was on the court. Had to drive through half of Red County before I came to Whetstone."

"Come on in then." The lean Latino opened the door wide to let the other gangsta into the house.

Pitbull, birth name Rafael Freeman, matched CJ's 6'4" height. The former's muscle mass was formidable without the impressive biceps or the awe-inspiring span of the husky Black's body, the build of a man who could have been a star quarterback for the San Fierro Packers. His curly brown afro was restrained by a green rag, the hair color a gift of his Dominican father and its texture a gift of his Black mother. Pitbull's blue eyes, smooth face, square jaw and athletic body were worthy of supermodel status.

His blue eyes flickered up and down Cesar's shirtless frame. Pitbull grinned. Cesar maintained a dark glower.

Carl embraced Pitbull and shut the door behind the prettyboy gangsta. "Man, you've seen Kendl? How's she doing?"

"I saw her just last week," Cesar mumbled resentfully.

Neither CJ nor Pitbull seemed to have heard him. "Challe, she's buena. Said she's working for a radio station from her house in Blueberry."

"Working?" Carl's jaw dropped open.

"Yeah, and she's making good money from the sound of it. Totally legit."

"How'd you find us?" Cesar demanded while Carl struggled with the idea of Kendl working.

"Kendl told me the name of the town, and it wasn't hard to find where the Black guy and Latino guy live." Pitbull yawned. "Man! I've been on the road all night long to get here from Blueberry. I'm thirsty and tired, homes. You mind if I rest up real quick before we really talk?"

"No problem man. Matter of fact, you can sleep in my bedroom. Just let me clean it up real quick." CJ rose to his feet and exited the living room. "Ay Ceese? Hook our man up with some beer."

The Azteca warrior started to comply, but the prettyboy gangsta grabbed his arm. Brown eyes met blue. "This is a nice place you got here, Cesar."

Cesar snatched his arm free and continued his freezing glare. "Carl bought it. Don't touch me like that again," he hissed, low enough that no one outside the living room could hear.

"Perdón, I didn't know you were…"

"What did Kendl tell you?"

"Nothing I didn't know before I got to her. I'm still thirsty by the way."

Cesar went to the refrigerator in the kitchen, retrieved a beer, and brought it back to the prettyboy gangsta. Pitbull had kicked off his boots and reclined on the sofa, his feet resting on the arm of the sofa in clean white socks. "Gracias. You want to sit down?" Pitbull gestured with his head at a free space on the sofa.

"I'd rather stand. Por qué esta aquí?"

Pitbull opened the bottle with his bare fingers and took a long drink from the bottle. "Been looking for you, novio."

"Don't call me that." Cesar's anger was so intense, it made him tremble. He rarely wanted to kill anyone, even for Varrios Los Azteca, even for Kendl. Pitbull's cocky grin incited Cesar's blood to boil and a murder plot unfolded in his head. "Don't ever call me that."

"Why not?" Pitbull sat up, his blue gaze still seeking the Azteca's brown eyes. "Los Aztecas is no more. Grove Street Families is just more coked-up pendejos. Los Santos is behind us."

"I still got Kendl."

"She don't love you no more. She told me herself."

Cesar folded his arms across his chest to contain the emotions that threatened to break him into millions of pieces. Pitbull stood up, arms extended to embrace him, and the Azteca warrior backed away. "Even if I believed that, the whole east side of LS knows you got plenty of ninos and ninas. Last I heard, you got ten of them, Rafael."

Pitbull grinned enchantingly at Cesar's use of his name. Cesar knew he sounded like a woman complaining about an unfaithful lover, but he needed more obstacles between his lean body and Pitbull's large, protective one. "It's twelve, actually. And like I said, I came looking for _you_. Give me a shot, Vialpando."


	7. Chapter 7: Made in Heaven

**This chapter contains: strong language, racial slurs, sexual innuendos, pissing, references to child abuse, references to an act of child molestation, whipping, Domination/Submission sex, and a man being anally raped. **

**If you cannot stomach any of this, do not read further. You've been warned.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Made in Heaven**

**Sweet's POV:**

Escorted by a lean white prison guard, Sweet shuffled his way from the prison infirmary to his cellblock. _'Two motherfuckin' weeks in the prison infirmary…Those chulo assholes knocked out three teeth, fractured my ribs, gave me a concussion, and broke my nose…When I catch the motherfuckers who did tried to rape me, I'ma send 'em to the morgue.'_

Prison doctors had spent the past two weeks monitoring Sweet's head injuries to make sure they didn't lead to anything worse than a concussion. He hadn't been allowed to sleep for the first 72 hours, and was prescribed some heavy pain pills. They also had to bandage his fractured ribs and treat his broken nose. Neither injury had healed fully yet, but the progress Sweet had made while in the infirmary amazed the doctors.

"You're lucky to be alive, you know that?" Sweet grunted in response to the guard. "If it'd been me on duty, I don't know if your boyfriend would've been able to save you!" He chuckled crudely, and the Grove Street don felt the guard's eyes rake his rear end. "One of the perks of this job is seeing you coons take a nice sized cock up your asses!"

Sweet turned and lunged, despite his painful ribs. The guard's reflexes were faster. Before the gangsta's fists reached his face, the guard held up his standard issue gun to Sweet's forehead. "Yeah, come on. Give me a reason to blast a hole into your sorry ass excuse for a brain, monkey."

_'Don't, you still got Carl and Kendl to look after.'_ The Black slumped his shoulders and remained passive when the guard snatched his arm. "That's what I thought. Prison makes pussies outta all you hardcore gangsta motherfuckers. It hasn't broken you yet, boy, but it will." The guard opened Sweet's cell. "Got a surprise for you. Someone decided to keep your cell warm for you."

When the guard opened Sweet's cell, a man rose from the lower bunk. He had deep brown skin and a body packed with more solid muscle than Sweet's, even though the man was more than a foot shorter. His nose lay flat on a face defined only by three claw marks along the left side of his bald head. "You the one who busted into the shower."

"Yeah, homie. I saved your life."

"Bullshit. I had it under control."

The guard chuckled. "You were about three seconds from having mucho Latino cock under control, from what I heard when this nigger saved your ass." He shoved Sweet into the cell and slammed the door shut. "Now you boys play nice, or Daddy's gonna give you both a spanking."

The other man watched the guard leave and lock the cell door. "He's right. You at least owe me a thank you."

"I don't owe you shit." Sweet tried to climb to the top of the bunk. Vertigo kicked in, and his head throbbed from the change in altitude. He leaned against the wall behind him and struggled against the sudden dizziness.

The other man was on his feet instantly. "Something wrong, homie?"

"Nah, I just don't wanna be on top."

"That's cool. I'd rather be on top anyway." The shorter Black winked at Sweet.

"Shit, you some kinda prison pussy?"

"Not exactly. Name's King, King Augustus Nicolas." He held out a beefy right hand that Sweet refused to shake.

"Sweet."

"That's what they call you? Sweet?" The Grove Street don nodded.

"Lights out!" a guard called from the end of the cellblock. The cellblock immediately plunged into darkness.

"Oh, it's going to be a long night for you, Sweet."

**CJ's POV:**

"Catalina! Open up, baby, it's me!" The husky Black pounded on the flimsy front door of the Latina spitfire's hideout. _'Hate these fuckin' mosquitoes! It's almost fall, and they STILL won't fuckin' die.'_ "Ay, Catalina! Where you at? Catalina!"

Carl walked off the stoop, but before he could mount the stolen Freeway he had parked in the yard, the front door swung open and the Latina spitfire stormed out, a woman possessed with rage. "Carl! You stinkin' negro puto!"

"Hey! For the last time, woman, don't you _ever _call me no bitch."

"Oh? You go off for three weeks with not even a phone call and grow a pair of cujones, is that it?"

"Nah, it's the same pair from before. The one you liked so much the last time I was up here."

"No matter! I know how you are! You men, you all the same: Fuck this, fuck that, that's all you care about."

CJ flashed her a winning smile and opened his brawny arms wide. "Nah baby, I care about you, too. I just been hauling freight, making some serious money." Carl wasn't going to tell her about his other money making scheme. For the last six weeks CJ had robbed shipments of cocaine and money travelling between Los Santos and San Fierro. He didn't know yet why Ryder and Smoke were getting yay from San Fierro, but their loss was his gain. "You know I'm 'bout that money."

Catalina walked into his embrace. "You know why I act this way, Carl. A woman's heart is a dangerous place to be without a man to keep her quiet and still."

"Let's talk about that after we discuss this heist you were telling me about on the phone. I even brought some Cluckin' Bell for a romantic dinner."

Anger flitted across Catalina's face like a shadow. "Eh? Follow me, Mr. Johnson. We have much to discuss."

Carl followed her into the ramshackled, dimly lit cabin and stumbled on a loose floorboard. Before he fell, he felt a pair of strong hands turn him around and shove him against Catalina's metal rack. "What the fuck?"

Catalina slammed the door shut and pulled on an overhead light switch made of a fine metal chain. "I'm tired of your games, Carl!"

"And I told you we ain't fuckin' on the damn rack no more!" The husky Black attempted to push himself upright. Catalina drew out a butcher knife as long as her arm and sharper than Carl's own favorite blade. "O-ok, maybe just one more time?"

Catalina strapped Carl's wrists onto the rack. "Now you want to talk, eh?" She locked his wrists and neck into place with a key that dangled from a leather strap on her right wrist. "Now you want to fuck, eh?" She cut away the gangsta's white tank top. "No time for talking now." She cut off his tight green jeans and pulled off his white Eris sneakers. "Now it is time you learned a lesson!

"You think because you have a beautiful body, you can go fuck every whore you see?" With a forceful yank, Catalina freed Carl's heavily hung member from his black boxers. She ghosted the flat of the blade over the inseam of his thighs. "Now you learn differently. Now you will know how it feels when a woman's heart breaks."

**Big Smoke's POV:**

Strip clubs always cast an aura around them, since the first one in the days of Sodom and Gommorrah. Whether it was the increased testosterone oozing out the doors, windows, and cracks in the walls, or the surreptitious knowledge that the four walls contained a place of fantasies fulfilled, Melvin "Big Smoke" Harris was aroused when he entered the Pig Pen.

He stared at his fat length rising against his blue sweatpants. "Look here, you got a lotta pretty ladies waiting in there to see you. But we got some business to handle first. So just stay calm until then, a'ight?" His shaft quickly lost altitude. The guards at the door didn't bother to check for weapons because the overweight gangsta slipped into their hands a wad of twenties. A waitress in a cowboy hat and no-crotch leather chaps sashayed toward Big Smoke and handed him a business card in her right hand. As she walked off, the fat gangsta stared at her shapely booty. _'Right, business before pleasure,'_ he reminded himself.

The card simply had a gold-embossed 4 on it. Big Smoke went to the private rooms at the back of the club and showed a beefy security guard the card. The guard nodded and opened the door for Big Smoke.

"Melvin!" Officer Tenpenny greeted enthusiastically. Beside him, Officers Pulaski and Hernandez grinned drunkenly. Big Smoke shut the door behind him. "Come, enjoy some vintage we just bought. Primo stuff!"

Big Smoke sat next to Officer Hernandez, opposite Tenpenny and Pulaski. "Good evening, officers. What's the occasion?"

"Let's skip the bullshit," Pulaski stated, but Tenpenny held up his hand.

"Chill, Pulaski. No need to rush things along." Tenpenny poured Big Smoke a glass and a glass for himself. "Now I'm sure you and your friends in the Loco Syndicate have been in communication about the missing shipments, right?"

"They might have mentioned something about not getting their money's worth."

"Don't fuck with us, fat boy," Pulaski snapped. Big Smoke noticed his hand hovered uncomfortably close to his police-issued pistol. "The Locos came to _us_ with questions, and that's the last thing you want, lard ass!"

Before Big Smoke knew it, Tenpenny had socked him in the jaw, and his bulk sprawled on the floor. "You stupid fat fuck, is this some kinda game to you? We're talking about supply and demand: When they supply cocaine, they demand money. If their couriers start showing up dead all around the countryside, they _still_ demand money!"

"My bad," Big Smoke coughed. "I'll do better next time."

"Who said your fat ass gets a next time?" Tenpenny drove his steel-toed boot into Big Smoke's crotch, and Pulaski rose with his pistol aimed at Big Smoke's head. He turned off the safety. The fat gangsta locked eyes with Officer Hernandez then closed his eyes in preparation for the last sound he would hear. "Hold on, Pulaski."

Big Smoke opened his eyes to meet Tenpenny's glare. "Look here: I would easily let Pulaski air your fat ass out and toss you into the dumpster out back myself. I could stomp the life out of you, but I prefer to have clean shoes. That's how low you are: You are shit to us. You are shit to the Loco Syndicate."

Tenpenny stood upright. "You have already created a mess, and it's your job to clean it up."

"Like a toilet?" Pulaski sniggered.

"Yeah, like a toilet. In fact…." Tenpenny reached down and pulled Big Smoke into a kneeling position by seizing the fat man's throat. Big Smoke struggled against the officer's grip on his windpipe, but Tenpenny was too strong. "I need to take a leak right now."

Big Smoke thought Tenpenny was about to leave the room and let Pulaski or Hernandez torture him, but the officer unzipped his pants and pulled out a thick, flaccid member. With his hand still gripping the fat gangsta's throat, Tenpenny unleashed a torrent of alcohol-scented urine on Big Smoke's face. Tenpenny released Big Smoke's throat only when the urine began to trickle past the fat man's closed lips. "Hey Frank, I gotta take a leak too."

Pulaski took his turn with relish. Big Smoke tried to turn from the slender, bright red manhood and its patch of red pubic hair so thick it was visible through the zipper of his uniform, but Pulaski grabbed the back of his head. He was unfortunate enough to open his mouth at the moment that the foul-smelling urine hit his face and retched the liquid onto the floor. "Oops, forgot to mention I had asparagus for dinner at the station."

As Pulaski wrapped up, Tenpenny slapped Hernandez on the Hispanic officer's back. "How about you serve this fat piece of shit some bean-scented piss too, boy?"

"Uh, I already hit the head before coming to the club tonight, sir. Dry as the desert."

"Hmm." Tenpenny turned to Big Smoke, who was hunched over the carpet trying to force out all of Pulaski's urine. "Don't ever forget your place again, Smoke. And get things in order, before we make it worse next time."

**CJ's POV:**

CJ had bloody slash marks crisscrossing his chiseled torso and dangled from his restraints in exhaustion and pain. Catalina had improved her whips to draw out more blood with each lashing. He hurt so badly he wanted to cry out, but focused on escaping the Latina's torture. "Look, I know this freaky shit turns you on, but…"

"Silence!" She squatted down, and Carl felt the cold clamps of metal cuffs secure his legs in a spread-eagle position, rather than the skillful fellatio he desired. "You do not know a woman's pain yet!"

He felt an unfamiliarly wet, warm, and slightly wonderful sensation between his legs, in the most private part of his body. CJ immediately bucked against Catalina's ministrations. "Bitch get the fuck away from my ass!" Her fingers coated his hole with lubricant, and as it stroked pleasure from his hole, Carl's member stiffened.

"You fuck me up! Now, I return the favor. You already wet just like us women get when a man has his way with our pulvo. Now, I feed that pulvo a nice hard carajo!"

Carl spotted the thick white rubber dildo in her hand. Although it was less than eight inches long, including the sculpted rubber scrotum, his booty was virgin and the husky Black preferred to keep it that way. "No, Catalina, no, please don't, please don't!" The head of the dildo pushed against his entrance. Carl bit his lip and clenched every muscle in his body as Catalina pushed diligently.

"Please stop, Catalina, please stop, please don't, don't, no please don't, Catalina don't please NOOOOOO!" The Black's body betrayed him and welcomed the invasion. The pain was more intense than anything he had felt before in his life. Carl's virgin hole burned and his dignity collapsed at his helpless state. But he would not let Catalina see or hear him cry.

"Feels good, doesn't it? You like this big plastic carajo up your sweet ass , don't you, lover?" Carl ignored her, so Catalina aggressively shoved the dildo deeper. The gangsta let out a whimper of pain. Something inside him had ripped or broken or torn. "Oh, you're bleeding my love. Perhaps you need to relax, hmm? When you are still a virgin, you do not know about these things. You think this is pain, don't you Carl?"

Catalina built up an agonizing rhythm: Out, and Carl wished with all his might that the experience were over; in, and Catalina's dildo stroked sensitively at a spot that kept his erection growing to full hardness. Out and the blood trickled down his thighs; in, and he felt the sticky slickness of internal bleeding. "Yes," he croaked.

"This is not pain. Pain is your stepfather pinning you to the mattress the morning of your quincenera, stripping off your little pink panties, pounding away your virginity, taking the very thing you were supposed to give your future husband, while his fat daughter devours cookies and cakes in the other room because she is the good one, the lovely one, the ugly fat one everyone lies to."

Catalina's punishing pace within him was punctuated with a deeper jab after each phrase, leaving CJ close to weeping and his traitorous erection dripping drops of pre-ejaculate to the floor. "That is pain. But I can also give you pleasure."

Catalina shoved the dildo into him, stepped back, and slowly began to undress. CJ barely held up his head from the aching of his battered entrance. "You men are lucky," she mocked, dropping her pants, "you are equipped to take pain and still find pleasure. We women can give pleasure, but we also find so much pain, Carl! Pain from you men!"

"I'm sorry, Catalina."

She backhanded him. "No! You take pleasure from us, just like all other men! You give us babies and we birth them alone on the cold basement floor with no one there but us. You tell us we are hermosa when you truly find us disgusting. You are liars, every one of you!"

Catalina placed her bare feet on either side of Carl's knees and grasped the rack behind his head. "Now you take my pleasure." She grabbed his hardness and shoved it into her wetness.

"Ay papi!"

_'This isn't love….'_

"Dios mio!"

_'This ain't sex, either….'_

"Su carajo is so big!"

_'This bitch is truly crazy…'_

"Mas! Mas! Harder!"

Carl's hips bucked half-heartedly. _'This is some sick, fucked up, twisted shit.'_

"Mas! Deeper! DEEPER! MAS!"

They climaxed within seconds of each other. Catalina's orgasmic moans were filled with pleasure and fulfillment, but Carl's grunt was filled with pain. His ejaculation made his groin throb around the girth of the dildo still inside him, and he closed his eyes in exhaustion. When he opened them, Catalina had removed the dildo, dressed, and unlocked his handcuffs. He was on all fours on the floor. "So, how did you enjoy the pleasure I just give to you, lover?"

Carl pushed himself from the floor and slammed his naked body into Catalina's clothed one. Her back hit the wall of the cabin with a sickening thud. Before she could recover, Carl rained punches on her face, until the Latina was motionless.

The husky Black dragged her body to the rack and placed one of her wrists in the space his had occupied only moments earlier. _'If you get out those cuffs Catalina, I'll bet you learn a real lesson about pain.' _Carl placed the key to the cuffs on the floor, just outside the reach of Catalina's foot. _'Crazy bitch.'_

He picked up the remains of his clothes. As much as he enjoyed freeswinging, Carl needed to dress in case people on the road weren't partial to a naked Black man. _'Can't wear this shirt or these pants no more. The draws ain't worth shit neither, but at least they keep me from riding around like a buck naked fool.'_ Carl pulled on the black boxers, stole the keys to Catalina's Buffalo from a hook on the door, and crept out the door.

Then his phone rang.

Catalina stirred. Carl rifled through his pants on the floor of the cabin, extricated his phone, and swiftly made his way to the car parked beside the house. "Speak on it," he said, resting in the driver's seat.

"Carl, it's the Truth. I got that munga munga you wanted. Swing by my farm….WHOA! I don't know you! Prank caller, prank caller!" Then the line went dead.

_'Damn spaced out idiot freak.'_

* * *

**Author's Note: This will be my last update on this story for a couple of weeks. I have more surprises coming from Cesar, Ryder, and Sweet in the next three or four chapters. Please leave comments about what you would like to see happen next. I really appreciate them.-Jay "Kidd" Grayson**


	8. Chapter 8: Are You Going to San Fierro?

**Warning: This chapter contains racial slurs, drug usage, bad Spanish, and man-on-man sexual encounters.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Are You Going to San Fierro?**

**Cesar's POV:**

When the screen door on the front porch opened, so did Cesar's eyes.

If he had slept on, he would have missed the figure cloaked in nighttime creeping into the house.

Cesar had fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room for the fifth time in the two weeks since Pitbull had come to live with Carl and Cesar. Beyond the prettyboy gangsta's lone declaration of his intent, Cesar's erratic sleeping patterns seemed to deter any contact between the two men. There were still innocuous moments when the two men were awkwardly close, such as the previous morning, when Cesar had caught Pitbull exiting from the shower in nothing but a fluffy blue towel around his waist. The prettyboy had yanked suggestively on the waist of the towel, and Cesar had spent almost an entire day driving along the coast and running on the beach. It was the only recourse he had to prevent any unwanted contact without alerting CJ.

He lay perfectly motionless on the sofa as the figure crept toward the hallway. Cesar's left hand wrapped around his silencer under the gray blanket he had draped over himself. The heavy footsteps sounded familiar. He had to capitalize on the element of surprise.

In one swift motion, the Latino swung his feet to the floor, turned on the light with his right hand, and aimed the gun with his left. "Que pasa, motherfucker!...CJ?"

The husky Black cringed with the light. His folded arms failed to conceal the magnificent sculpture of his nearly naked ebony body. Despite the weeks they had spent in the country, Cesar observed the definition and vascularity to Carl's torso of a committed bodybuilder. A pair of shredded black boxers maintained the Black's modesty only because his large, veiny hands held the cloth in place. Cesar tore his gaze from Carl's body to avoid the thoughts it aroused, but eye contact with the Black gangsta was no better. A foul shame filled Carl's mysterious brown eyes. "Cesar….Don't….Don't look at me like this."

He suddenly noticed the fine, bloody welts crisscrossing CJ's chest. "Carl, what-?" Before Cesar could finish his question, he heard Pitbull's feet thudding on the upstairs floor. _'I can't let him see Carl like this, no matter what happened to him.'_

Cesar stripped off his white tank top and tossed it at CJ. "Put it on!" he hissed. Pitbull's feet thudded down the stairs as Carl yanked the shirt over his cornrowed head. Cesar had unfastened his pants and had stepped out the right pant leg when Pitbull appeared in the kitchen. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants but no shirt, and clenched a Desert Eagle in his right hand.

As he surveyed the scene, the half-Dominican's eyes widened. "What the fuck's going on here?"

Carl cleared his throat. "I gotta go meet Truth. Just stopped in for a change of clothes."

The Black's voice had resumed its authoritative tone, but something was still uncertain about CJ. Cesar and Pitbull both detected it. "Where you been homes?" Cesar asked.

"Yeah, and how come you got on Cesar's shirt?" Pitbull addressed Carl, but his scrutinizing gaze locked on Cesar. The racing king ignored him.

"I was with Catalina."

"Did she hurt you, or-?" The beefy Black limped out the room and up the stairs before Cesar could finish his question. Cesar waited for a response until the bathroom door slammed shut and the shower began running.

Pitbull's eyes roved fervently up and down Cesar's shirtless, pantless body. Like Carl, the Latino gangsta had sustained the body he had achieved from months of weight training in Los Santos, but with his naturally slim frame, he didn't require as much exercise. His trim, well-defined eight pack and the span of his muscular chest came naturally, as long as he ate. Even with his gifted body, there was no justification for the way Pitbull looked at him. "Don't look at me like that, pendejo."

"I was just thinking, 'Damn, I need to get me a body like that.' You got any idea where I can get one?" Pitbull ran his tongue over his lips.

"I'm leaving." Cesar pulled up his pants and checked his pockets for the keys. Pitbull lunged toward him, seizing Cesar's arms in a desperate grip.

"Ay, Cesar." The racing king stopped in his tracks. "Perdón, but what was _really _going on there? Did tu prima loco do something to him? Or…?"

Cesar snatched his arm from the prettyboy's grip and stormed out the house to his Savanna. _'Shouldn't have tried to pull that shit, not even to cover CJ's ass. Should've just let CJ walk in naked.'_ Cesar recalled how his best friend, shamefully snuck into the house and distraughtly clung to the remains of his boxers. He shook off the image and struggled to replace the stirring of his loins with the anger in his blood. _'Now this pendejo thinks it was something, thanks to me being estúpido. I gotta get outta here before he makes something happen.'_

Pitbull trailed behind Cesar and slammed his beefy hand on Cesar's car door. "Hey. I'm talkin' to you, novio."

Cesar shoved away the larger man's hand and scanned their surroundings. They were protected from wandering eyes by the back of the farmhouse and a brick general store beside it. No one would hear them over the blare of truck horns and the revving of engines on the street. "Let's get two things straight, right now: Nothing happened between me and CJ. He's like mi hermano, would never do nothin' like that."

He stepped into Pitbull's glaring face. "Tambien, I am not your fuckin' novio, never have been. Why you think I drive off to nowhere, huh? Why you think I sleep on that shitty couch? I don't want to be near you. I'm in love with…"

The prettyboy gangsta's body was pressed against Cesar's. His full, pouty lips trapped Cesar's slim ones, and the weight of his body slammed Cesar's back into the wall behind the general store. He raised his hands to push away Pitbull's aggressive, yearning body and found his fingers tracing the beefy prettyboy's shirtless pecs. Husky light brown arms blocked him on either side. As their bodies pressed against one another, Cesar felt the undeniable rise of Pitbull's erection against his lean thighs.

"I'm in love with you. Creo que, nothing else matters," Pitbull mumbled against Cesar's lips.

He pressed his lips against Cesar's again. This time, the Azteca king offered no resistance. Pitbull's tongue played along Cesar's soft, pliant lips. When the smaller man opened his mouth in a desperate, air-gulping moan after several passionate years and subtly arched his lower back to increase his contact with Pitbull's growing erection, the half-Dominican's tongue snaked into Cesar's gaping mouth. His broad, strapping frame eagerly pressed against Cesar's lean body.

"Stop," Cesar croaked, weak with heady arousal.

"No." Pitbull's soft lips moved from Cesar's mouth to his neck. The gentle caress of his tongue and the nibble of his full lips enflamed the racing king's desire even further. His body shook with barely restrained need. Cesar flung his arms around Pitbull's neck and wantonly spread his legs against the back of the store. Pitbull drove his hips against Cesar's, causing the smaller Latino's breath to hitch when Pitbull's erection rubbed against his own. "Lo quiero, mi corazon?" he whispered, stroking Cesar's exposed, hardened nipples with the large pads of his thumbs.

Despite his all-consuming arousal, Cesar shoved Pitbull backwards. "I said stop."

Then he noticed that the back door of the farmhouse was open. Carl stood on the back stoop clad in grey boxers with a blue towel draped around his shoulders. His gaze scanned both Cesar and Pitbull, both of whom were sporting obvious erections. "What's going on?"

**Ryder's POV:**

"You look mad this morning, Smoke. Somethin' you wanna share, homie?"

The fat man sat heavily in a leather armchair on the fourth floor of the compound he shared with Ryder. Following their betrayal of the Johnson brothers, Ryder and Smoke had purchased an empty bodega and converted it into a fortress, packed with loyal Ballas and Vagos. Their renovations hadn't gone much further than the third and fourth floors. Strippers, a bar, pool tables, and card tables waited to entertain on the third floor, while the fourth floor contained four bedrooms and two separate entrances for their respective living quarters.

Ryder sat on the opposite side of his living room. His TV and game system blocked Ryder's small body from view, but Smoke could discern that the gangsta's face was more focused on the game than on him. "Nah man, I'm a'ight. Like it says in the Good Book, I may be tested but I will not be moved. I _know_ who my redeemer is."

"Yeah? You sure you ain't pissed about somethin'?"

He tried to laugh, but he only drew air between his teeth. Rico, Cesar Vialpando's cousin, knelt on the floor before Ryder and fellated the Black with such an ardent eagerness that Ryder's legs trembled uncontrollably. _'This bitch here knows just how I like it. Looks up at me while he suckin' it too.'_

Big Smoke stood up. "Aye, Ryder, since you so gangsta, how about-?" He spotted Rico's almost naked body kneeling before the smaller Black and Ryder's scrawny shirtless torso in the hands of the Latino gangsta. "What the fuck?!"

The Latino started to stand up, but Ryder grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth back into place. "What's wrong, Smoke?"

"You-you fuckin' sissy! Gettin' your dick sucked by another man, what's wrong with you Ryder?"

Ryder forced a chuckle and shoved Rico's head so far down, the Latino gangsta's eyes watered. "This bitch is suckin' my dick to stay alive. Told him and his chulo homie to find somethin' I want. Even gave 'em two extra weeks. Already shot the first one, now Rico here tryin' to negotiate with me."

"That still ain't right, Ryder. You sick in the head, nigga."

"Nigga, I don't see _nobody_ givin' skull to your fat ass, so shut the fuck up." Big Smoke opened his mouth to speak. The shorter Black yanked Rico's head from his lap by the back of the Latino's neck with one hand and jumped to his feet with a silver Tec-9 aimed at Big Smoke's face with the other. "This is about respect. I tell this bitch to get a job done, I expect it done. I just cum as an added bonus. Any other questions, fat man?"

Big Smoke shook his jowly head. Ryder motioned with his gun for the obese gangsta to sit down, and Big Smoke complied. Ryder shoved his member back into Rico's moist, waiting mouth and viciously began humping the Hispanic's face. While Rico struggled to slurp up every inch of Ryder's swollen shaft, the smaller gangsta reveled audibly in the experience, especially to make Big Smoke as uncomfortable as possible. "Ooowee, suck that dick...Gobble it up, all of it, there you go! Don't stop wetback bitch...Keep going bitch, keep going...Oh, shit, I'm 'bout to cum!"

He grabbed Rico's hair and positioned it so that his seed exploded onto the Latino's forehead and trickled down. "Damn, that was good. How was it for you, bitch?"

"Good," Rico whimpered.

"Yeah, bet it beats being dead, don't it? Now get the fuck up and get out my crib." The Hispanic snatched up his purple sweatshirt from the floor where Ryder had tossed it and sprinted to the door. Ryder's lips curled into a sneer, watching an abashed Rico wipe the semen off his cheeks. _'Damn, I'm still hard and if Smoke wasn't here, I'd be takin' care of some more business with that chulo. Oh well, gotta see what his fat ass wants.' _

Ryder zipped himself up and crossed the room to stand over Big Smoke. "Now talk motherfucker. What you want?"

"I could be askin' you the same thing, homie. What you got him lookin' for?"

"Nah, nigga, you first."

"The Locos want us to come out to San Fierro, discuss a better way of shipping the product here." Ryder lifted a cushion on the sofa and produced a fat plastic bag of high-grade, dull green marijuana. "We losin' money on this operation, homie."

Ryder took a rolling paper from his pocket. "You think they tryin' to shut us down?"

"I think they want their money. Last time I checked, we ain't fuckin' got it!"

"Chill homie." Ryder licked the blunt closed, placed it on his lips, and lit it. He took a deep drag on it, then offered it to Big Smoke. "Relax." The fat gangsta took the blunt and took two puffs. "They just tryin' to make us sweat is all, homie. We gonna go into San Fierro, talk to 'em, and get things straightened out. If they wanna give us some bullshit, we blast on all of 'em!"

Big Smoke took two more puffs, then handed the blunt back to Ryder. "Sounds like a plan to me." Ryder took his two hits. "So what you got that ese runnin' out here for?"

"Told him a couple weeks ago to go find his cousin, him and another little bitch the Rifa sent over. They ain't done what I told 'em, so I capped one of 'em and made the other bitch remember his place in this organization." Ryder passed the blunt to Big Smoke.

"Who's his cousin?"

"Cesar Vialpando."

"That vato Carl was cool with? The one from Los Aztecas?"

"Chea."

"What you want him for?"

Ryder ignored the repugnant glance Big Smoke shot at him. "He's got two things I want: that fine sister of CJ's and access to more guns than GSF ever had."

"Why in the fuck would you want either one? We got plenty of bitches, and we armed to the teeth."

Ryder chuckled and flung the roach into an ashtray. "That's why they call shit a secret. Now get out. I gotta take a shower, wash all this wetback off me."

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**Author's Note: I promised a huge update after two weeks. I'm diligently working to complete chapters three more chapters with the hope of posting all four before midnight this Saturday. Enjoy the story. Please review or post any questions you may have.**


	9. Chapter 9: San Fierro Dreamin'

**Chapter 9: San Fierro Dreamin'**

**Sweet's POV:**

When Sweet opened his eyes at the sound of the morning wake-up alarm blaring from the prison walls, he knew where he was, how long he had been there, and why he was there.

He just failed to remember who lay beside him.

_'"Nigga, don't you fuckin' touch me!" _

_'The shorter Black leaped to his feet and painfully body slammed Sweet against the far brick wall. Sweet yelped like a wounded dog, but his cry was muffled by King Augustus' meaty hand clamped over his mouth. A passing prison guard chuckled derisively. "You niggas play nicely in there, now."' _

Sweet shivered involuntarily as the memory crossed his mind. He tried to ease himself off the bed, but King Augustus' beefy forearm encircled his waist and it was already impossible to be stealthy with fractured ribs. Sweet winced at his own movements.

_'King waited until the guard passed. Sweat beaded on Sweat's forehead despite the coolness of the wall at the back of his head, in fearful anticipation of the shorter Black's next move. He thought to push away his new cellmate's body, but the thought alone caused Sweet's ribcage to protest painfully. _

_'"Look here, nigga, I'm tryin' to make a deal with you. You need somebody inside these walls to watch your back. If you down, I got somethin' I want from you too. You wanna make a deal?" _

_'King pulled away his hand. "Fuck nah, nigga, I ain't takin' no dick up my ass." _

_'The shorter gangsta chuckled then pressed the heel of his left hand against Sweet's ribs, while using his right hand to pin the Grove Street don against the wall. Sweet was so handicapped by his injury that he couldn't mount anything resembling a defense. It took every ounce of restraint Sweet had in him to bite his lower lip and suppress the agonized cry radiating from his ribcage. Even so, tears trickled from the corners of his eyes. _

_'"You wanna fight me? Go ahead. You'll hurt yourself more than you'll hurt me. Don't really seem like you got much choice but to do what I want, do it?" He snatched up Sweet's collar and tossed the Grove Street don onto the lower bunk with the care a child would have shown to a favored china doll.' _

"Ay, is it roll-call already?" King asked, stretching on the narrow mattress. The man's dominant bulk beside him made Sweet feel inept as a man and dirty. He circled his torso with his arms and feigned detachment from the world, the way he used to do when posted on the corners of the Grove.

"Y-Yeah."

"Alright." King lightly nudged Sweet on the back of his head. "Get up. You already know how to behave, and you got a show to put on in the mess hall, niggas. Live up to your end of the bargain."

_'King Augustus pinned Sweet to the mattress with his bodyweight. Even though his muscular forearms supported his torso over Sweet's and prevented the painful pressure of their bodies touching, Sweet could discern that King weighed significantly more than he did. "Look, if I wanted your ass, I would've gotten it by now." The shorter Black jabbed his thumb into one of Sweet's ribs as footsteps approached. Sweet let out an unmanly gasp of pain. "Yeah, that's it, bitch, take it, take it, take it!" King ground their hips together and the mattress squeaked like two lovers in wanton heat were atop it. _

_'When the guard had passed, King stared into Sweet's eyes and whispered into his ear, "I ain't tryin' to get your ass unless you're offering it up. I heard you got a brother who knows somethin' about stealin' cars." _

_'"From who?" Sweet gasped. It was blatantly obvious that he stood no chance against King in a fight, and it was better if he lost on his terms. _

_'"Don't worry about that. I got a whole network of eyes and ears on the outside these walls. It's gonna take months for you to heal all the way. If I protect your ass from another take down, you gotta get your brother to get some cars for me." _

_'"What you need those cars for?" _

_'"That ain't important. Just know this: You ain't gotta get raped or beaten into a coma, your brother's life won't be at risk, and I get my cars. Everybody get what they want. Do we have a deal?"' _

They strolled into the mess hall . One of Sweet's hands clutched the towel dangling from King's waist. A few of the men who spotted them whistled approvingly or tossed degrading comments in Sweet's direction.

"Ay, look at that GSF bitch now!"

"Still tastin' your daddy's dick, huh Grove Street?"

Sweet's jaw clenched at every insult. He had to force his head upright and focused straight ahead. King nudged Sweet ahead of him in the lunch line, and the Grove Street don picked out the shorter Black's tray. He was not allowed to get one for himself. He carried it in one hand to King's table, as the other was wrapped around King's towel again. King sat at the table, Sweet set the tray in front of him, and when King snapped his fingers, Sweet sat on the floor with his butt resting on his ankles.

The Blacks and Latinos at the table stared lustfully at Sweet while they chowed down their meals. One of them, a husky older Black with a bald, glistening head, asked "So, you liking your Daddy's meat, huh, bitch?"

Sweet glared at the man. King cut his eyes from a forkful of mashed potatoes to Sweet. "What do you say when Daddy's people ask you a question, bitch?"

"Yes. I do. Thank you."

"Good bitch," King chuckled, and the entire table followed suit.

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**Author's Note: I have never been to prison, so I had to watch a slew of Youtube videos about prison rape, relationships in prison, etc., to attempt to accurately write this chapter. I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies and I welcome any suggestions.**

**The next nine or ten chapters will be set in San Fierro.**


	10. Chapter 10: Wear Flowers in Your Hair

**Chapter 10: Wear Flowers in Your Hair**

**Cesar's POV:**

"What's going on?"

Cesar quickly raked his eyes across CJ's sculpted chest and abs. He felt the heat of Pitbull's eyes upon him and winced at their burning rage. _'I'm not gonna get stuck between mi hermano and this thick-headed pendejo. Hasta luego. I'm going driving.'_ Without a word to either CJ or Pitbull, the racing king hopped into his Savanna, cranked it up, and drove down the main street of Angel Pine.

* * *

Six hours later, Cesar found himself at the Pay 'n' Spray in Dillimore. Without the option to go to Los Santos, the Hispanic drove to the one place he felt most comfortable, a detailing shop. An autumn sunset approached over the hills as the painters finished the last touches on the gold flames streaking down the cherry red side panels of the car. He sat on the concrete wall outside the detail shop, eating a sandwich as he waited.

His phone rang. "Cesar, it's me."

"'Sup, CJ?"

"Get Kendl and meet me at the garage on the waste grounds in Doherty."

Cesar's normally whirring mind suddenly went blank. It wasn't exactly the first conversation he expected to have with Carl after he stormed out. "Kendl?"

"Yeah, Ceese. My sister?" Carl let out a deep, throaty cough. "What the hell, Ceese? You high or somethin'?"

"No, hermano. It's just…." Carl snickered loudly, and Cesar heard a man's voice in the background mumble something. "Que pasa?"

"De nada….Whoa! I just spoke Spanish! What'd you put into this bud, Truth? I'm baked like a…like a…."

_'CJ's high? A man always changes when he's high. Creo, Carl's never touched that stuff, so it's gonna be even stronger on him.'_ "Alright, homes. I'll get Kendl and meet you in Doherty. What about Pitbull?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. Him too, if he wants to come."

Cesar hung up the phone. His stomach had knotted with dread. _'I'm about to really fuck up some kinda way. Either this is gonna go really bad, seeing Kendl again, or she's gonna be really pissed when Pitbull comes to San Fierro with us. Gotta be a man about it, either way.'_

* * *

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

_'Kendl better be home. It's almost nine on a Thursday night.' _

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

_'It don't matter what she said. We ain't over. We ain't never gonna be over.'_

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

_'Why are all the lights out? Is she home? Where the fuck is she?'_

Cesar heard the rustle of a paper bag behind him and watched, entranced, as Kendl entered the courtyard carrying a paper sack filled with groceries. Her lean biceps glistened in the street lights as she strained to hoist the bag to the stairs. The lights caressed her brown braids, kissed her mocha skin, and flattered her body in a blue halter top and denim jeans.

The Latino jogged down the stairs to meet Kendl and lifted the bag from her arms. "Oh, thank….Cesar, what are you doing here?"

"Didn't I always tell you to be aware of your surroundings?" His response was more bitter than he had intended, and Kendl's hands fastened to her hips as she prepared to launch into a tirade. "Sorry. I'm just protective of you, mi corazon."

"I don't need to be protected by you, Cesar." She started to take her groceries back, but Cesar wrapped his arms around the sack.

"No matter what you say, I'm still a man, and you still a woman. Mi madre would turn over in her grave if she knew I didn't carry a woman's groceries."

"Fine, whatever, I'm too tired to argue with you anyway." Kendl reached into her pink leather Bobo purse and took out her keys. "You can come in, but you ain't stayin'."

Cesar followed Kendl up the stairs and into the apartment. Kendl had decorated the limited space with lots of pink, blue, and green, which Cesar knew were her favorite colors. Pink curtains hung beneath a blue and green banner of Greenglass College. Her coffee table had a soft pink doily covering it, and the worn-out blue sofa had been improved with the addition of half a dozen pink pillows. The entire apartment possessed a spotlessness Cesar wished he could achieve in his home with CJ and Pitbull.

Kendl took the grocery bag from Cesar's hand and sauntered into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a heavy blue curtain. "Thank you for helping me with the groceries," Kendl said, returning with a cup of water and motioning for Cesar to sit down, "but what are you doing here, Cesar? I told you we were over."

"CJ wants us to meet him at a garage in Doherty."

"You mean something went down again? Out here, in the country?" Cesar nodded solemnly. "I cannot believe my big brother is such a screw-up!" Kendl threw her hands into the air in frustration and began pacing.

"Chill, mi corazon." Cesar stood up and placed a steadying hand on Kendl's shoulder. She gave it a dirty look, but her lack of resistance encouraged the Hispanic to pull her closer. "Your brother is a man, just like me. You gotta trust in what he's doing. He's trying to take care of business, keep you and Sweet safe."

Kendl rolled her eyes at him in feigned indignation. But Cesar's arms were around her, even though they weren't pressed closely together, and she did not pull away. "You right, Cesar. I gotta look out for that fool 'cause he's liable to get himself fucked up in a city like San Fierro. I just...hate all this moving around bullshi. I'm tryin' to get my life together, too."

"I know, I know, mi bonita." Cesar drew her closer, and when her head rested against his chest, Kendl rested there for a few seconds, a few hours, an eternity. Just the sensation of her head resting on his chest was succor for the bullet wound in his shoulder, for the unease he felt around Pitbull, and for his own apprehensions about fleeing to San Fierro.

Kendl pulled back, but there was no sign of regret or anger in her face. "Come on, Cesar. I'll make us some coffee for the road."

In the course of an hour together, they drank coffee, joked, laughed, and connected like the two old friends they were. Kendl packed some of her clothes into a suitcase, placed a phone call to her boss' office, and let Cesar store her suitcase in the trunk of his Savanna. She rode beside him to San Fierro, and even though they hadn't discussed it, Cesar felt confident that she was his girl once again. _'Just like old times,'_ he thought as he steered his way through the Panopticon.

He was so elated to be at her side once again that he forgot to call Pitbull before they reached San Fierro.

* * *

**Author's Note: Alright! Enough with the slow-moving plot already! This story is about to get really heated, it's going down in San Fierro in the next eight chapters!**


	11. Chapter 11: 555-WE-TIP

**Chapter 11: 555-WE-TIP**

**CJ's POV:**

"Motherfucker! This garage is a worthless piece of shit!" Carl raged. He slammed his foot into an empty tool box and pounded his meaty fist against the rotting brick wall.

Carl, Kendl, Cesar, Truth, and Truth's three friends examined the Doherty garage the Black gangsta had won in his countryside races. The cobalt paint on its walls peeled in most places, and in others paint had vanished entirely. Exposed, rotting rafters supported the iron shingled roof, which had rusted through in several places allowing the rafters to rot. Pools of stagnant rainwater dotted the concrete floor. A red Hacksman tool chest in one corner had been forced open, and its former contents were strewn across the concrete floor. Light fixtures had been shattered, the car lifts were rusty from lack of use, and the office windows had been reduced to jagged panes of shattered glass. In fact, the only part of the garage that seemed to be in working condition were the bay doors, the side doors, and the office door, as they were all constructed from sheets of formidable, padlocked steel.

"Ay, Carl, it's not that bad! It just needs a coat of paint," Cesar tried to persuade his irate friend with his perpetually cheerful voice. He stooped to pick up a chunk of rafter that had rotted from the rest. "Ok, and maybe we could use some new rafters, too?"

"It's not that bad, Ceese?" Carl stormed across the garage until he was almost nose-to-nose with his best friend. His mighty chest heaved with rage and his broad nostrils flared. "Bullshit, it _is_ that bad! I raced my ass off to get us all a little somethin' and your piece of shit cousin fucked us all over!"

"Hold on, Carl, you gonna diss mi familia?" The Latino gangsta jabbed a lean index finger into Carl's muscular chest.

CJ ignored the dangerous glint in Cesar's eyes and took a deep breath. _'The last thing I need is a meaningless fight with my homie here.' _"Look, ain't no love lost between me and Catalina. But this ain't personal, it's about business, honoring your word, and all that."

Cesar nodded. The two men had reached an understanding, and the potential fight between the powerful gangstas had been averted. Kendl wasn't so easily persuaded. "Whatever Carl, you've always acted like this. Like the world owed you something for nothing." The beefy Black gritted his teeth and growled low enough that only Cesar could hear.

Somehow, that was a sufficient cue for Cesar to talk to Kendl. "Baby, you got any ideas about how we can fix up this garage?"

_'Man, Cesar's got skills. Look at how Kendl just softens up when he's close to her, how she just loses all that anger she's always puttin' out.' _Carl watched as the Latino gently stroked Kendl's exposed arms. She smiled coyly. "Yeah, I do. We need a little money, some hard work, and within a week, we'll be in business."

"A week, what are we gonna do for income in that time?" Carl asked.

Kendl rolled her eyes at him. "How about you go and buy some property around San Fierro? That way, they will generate their own income. Better yet, why don't you just give me the money and let me handle it?"

"I don't know if you're ready for that, sis."

"Carl, grow up," Kendl replied with an exasperated sigh and her hands on her supple hips. "You've got to make your money work for you, instead of you working for your money. Since you don't know how to do it, you gotta let me do it."

"I trust my bombón, CJ. Don't you trust your sister?" Cesar asked pointedly.

_'No more than I trust your relationship is gonna last. Somethin' is off between you two, and I'm not sure what's going on. But I'm gonna find out.' _

"Yeah, sure, I trust her. How much do you need Kendl?"

"Let's say about fifteen grand."

Carl reached into the pocket of his grey Binco sweatpants, counted out a stack of money, and handed it to his sister. "I'm givin' you twelve. Make it count."

Kendl's stony face communicated her unmitigated skepticism. "You just leave this money-making business up to me. Cesar, can I borrow your keys real quick?"

"Why?"

The Grove Street princess seductively stroked Cesar's smooth brown face. "Baby, I'm gonna look for some properties, like I just said. A city this big gotta have a couple stores for sale, some empty lots, maybe even a house we can rent out!"

Cesar was stunned into submission by the caress of Kendl's hand on his face. He effortlessly reached into his pocket and surrendered the keys to his Savanna. CJ had to suppress laughter at the way Kendl turned the tables. "Sure, mi corazón, whatever you want, I'll be glad to give it to you."

Kendl stood on tiptoe and brushed her full lips across Cesar's. "Alright baby, I'll see you later tonight?" Cesar nodded dumbly. "Later, Carl; bye guys!"

As Kendl jogged out the bay doors, CJ clapped his meaty hands together to center everyone's attention on him. "Alright y'all, let's get to work cleaning this place up! Zero, do you…." The Black's pep talk was cut short by the ringing of his cell phone. He stepped outside and answered irritably, "Hello?"

"What are you doing in San Fierro, boy?" A stern, masculine voice without conviction asserted.

"Who is this?"

"Officer Hernandez, I've called you before," he said with deflated bluster.

"Oh yeah, you're their bitch! Why are you callin' me again?"

"Look, we know you're in San Fierro, and we have an important assignment for you. And you're going to do it, boy."

"Today is Thursday, bitch. Tomorrow is the day I talk to hoes. Saturday is the day I talk to bitches. Call me then." CJ started to end the call.

"You'll stay on the line unless you want to lose someone close to you." The Black reluctantly brought the phone back to his ear. "We have a network that runs deeper than you know. You wouldn't reach the people at the top even if you spent years trying. So listen up."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Meet me at the diner in Paradiso in two hours. I'll explain everything there." Hernandez hung up.

* * *

CJ arrived at the diner ten minutes early and overwhelmingly hungry. He wore a tight gray Rockstar sweatshirt, black Zip khakis, and gray Zip boots. Anyone whose eyes wondered in his direction turned away almost immediately because his scowl and dark clothes projected a fearsome attitude. He preferred it that way.

He took a booth near the kitchen. In case he had to defend himself, its walls and door offered the best cover in the whole restaurant. The husky Black ordered a bacon cheeseburger, a fruit smoothie, and a salad while he waited.

His waitress, Andrea according to her nametag, set the gangsta's smoothie on the Formica tabletop. Just then, Jimmy Hernandez strutted through the door. With his straight-brushed, jet black hair, blue Zip khakis, gray boots, black tank top, and black leather biker jacket, Hernandez projected a lethal aura of coolness. He was innocuous in his street clothes, but he received more than a few lingering glances from the waitresses and a few male customers as he sauntered through the restaurant. _'Gotta hand it to the bitch, he lookin' sharp in the street clothes.'_

Officer Hernandez seated himself in the booth across from CJ and folded his hands together. "Hernandez," Carl said coldly.

"Johnson."

"What do you want?" _'Even if I ain't in Los Santos, I can't let my rep slip up. Can't let people think I'm some cop-lovin' snitch.'_

Hernandez sighed. With a face was as inflexible as a champion poker player with a winning hand, the cop didn't respond to CJ's question. "Did you get what Tenpenny told you to get from Truth?"

"Yeah, what do you want with it?"

Andrea returned to the table with Carl's smoothie. "Here you go, cutie." She bent flirtatiously when setting the glass on the table, and remained bent over when turning her gaze to Hernandez. "Now you look too good to be his boyfriend, or am I leaping to conclusions?"

Hernandez chuckled. "We're just discussing some business."

"That's good. So what will you have: something to drink, something to eat, or something good to go?"

"I'll have a tall glass of Sprunk, if you don't mind."

Andrea giggled and placed one hand on her ample but not overly large bosom. "Alright, but before you leave, I'll check if you want something to go as well." CJ caught the flirty waitress' wink before she walked off, switching her hips with bone-breaking swiftness.

Hernandez leaned forward again. "There's a D.A. here in San Fierro who's investigating Tenpenny and Pulaski. I'm caught in the crossfire too." His hazel brown eyes darted from one side of the restaurant to the other. "Tenpenny wants you to plant the green in his car then call We-Tip. He drives a blue Merit."

"How the fuck am I supposed to plant that stuff in a D.A.'s car?"

"He'll be at the Vank Hoff Hotel at two a.m. Tenpenny's pretty sure he's meeting an informant there. The Vank Hoff has valets, and for tonight you're going to be one of them."

CJ reclined on the leather-covered bench. "You must be runnin' pretty scared too, huh bitch?"

"Don't act like you understand what I'm thinkin', boy. This D.A. isn't going to slap charges on me."

Suddenly interested, Carl leaned forward. Hernandez cursed under his breath, because the look the Black gangsta deliberately gave him conveyed the error he had made. "Why not?"

"Because…I'm an informant."

Carl laughed. "Look at the bitch growin' a pair of balls. How long have you been snitchin'? I bet you've been doin' it since you started workin' for Tenpenny and Pulaski."

"Do you like working for Tenpenny and Pulaski?"

"Did slaves like it on the plantation?"

Hernandez chuckled, and CJ noticed how his hazel eyes sparkled when he laughed. "If I had your sense of humor, maybe this job wouldn't be so hard."

"It ain't the job that's the problem. It's your bosses." Leaning forward, CJ whispered, "So are you snitching or not?"

"The Feds are trying to build a case against the whole C.R.A.S.H. unit. Tenpenny isn't running the unit the way it was meant to be run, and it's obvious. Gangs in Los Santos are getting bigger every day, and there are more crack dealers on the streets than before C.R.A.S.H. got started. I'm a good cop, and I don't want to see the badge tarnished this way."

"So why are you puttin' in work for them?"

"Too many bodies are poppin' up. Felix, that Vagos drug-pusher in East LS they had you burn up. Sergeant Fisher Omen, the Feds' first informant on Mount Chiliad. A Russian arms dealer a few weeks before that, and Ralph Pendlebury, who stuck his nose where Tenpenny didn't want it. It's only a matter of time before I go missing or end up dead in the line of duty. I'm going to set things right before that happens."

_'Damn, I killed most of the guys on Hernandez's list. Tenpenny and Pulaski probably comin' after me next.'_ "So let me guess: You want me to turn snitch too?"

"No, but I do need you to provide evidence for me to take to the D.A."

"What kind of evidence?" Something hard tapped Carl's knee under the table. "Ay, what the…."

"It's a camera. Take it." CJ wrapped his large hands around the camera and hauled it into his lap. "The D.A. needs physical evidence of their wrongdoing. I already got a note Tenpenny wrote about planting the green in his car. When he gets arrested, I'm going to compile a dossier and hand it over to the federal D.A. We need a picture of the green in his car."

"That's where I come in, right?"

Hernandez nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled a five dollar bill out. "That's exactly right. I'll keep in touch, CJ."

"Alright, bitch, I'll see you later." Carl watched Hernandez stroll out the diner then laid a ten dollar bill on the Formica tabletop as well. Andrea sashayed from the kitchen with his delicious-looking juicy cheeseburger on a white plate in one hand and a steaming pot of coffee in the other. "Hot Chocolate, where are you going?"

"Gotta take care of some business right now." CJ checked his Zip Blue watch. It was already 23:06. "I'll be back later though."

"You do that now, because I want me a tall cup of hot chocolate before it gets cold." She winked at Carl, who grinned and slowly walked out the diner. _'I ain't feelin' her like that, but Carl Johnson ain't turned down free pussy. Gotta make sure she ain't crazy like Catalina though.'_ The Black gangsta hopped into the red Bravado Banshee he had stolen that morning and cranked the engine with the keys the foolish owner had left in the vanity mirror. He sped down Paradiso Road into San Fierro's Financial District. The sports car belonged among the towering, ostentatious skyscrapers of the city's prominent skyline, and the gangsta belonged to number among the wealthy, high-powered men and women of its businesses. Whereas Carl would have been awestruck by a Banshee anywhere he saw it, the businessmen walking the sidewalks of Financial gave it no notice, even at this late hour.

_'Kendl's right. We gotta stop doing the two-bit hustle of robbing and carjackin'. If we wanna move up in the world, we gotta get on their level.'_ He turned right and found himself approaching the Vank Hoff Hotel. It distinguished itself from the rest of the Financial District skyline with its whitewashed limestone walls and elegant, nearly windowless façade. _'Like this place: Jefferson Motel looks a lot worse than this place because the owners think on different levels. Dope boys don't come to the Vank Hoff, they go to the Jefferson. CEOs don't go to the Jefferson, they go to the Vank Hoff.'_

Carl steered the car into the underground parking garage, narrowly missing a valet dashing back to the street level. "Hey you jerk, watch where you're going!" the man in the red vest and black slacks exclaimed. He kicked the side panel of the Banshee.

The Black shifted the car into park, got out, and grabbed the valet by the back of his collar. "Hey asshole, let go of me!"

_'Hernandez did say I had to become a valet. No time like the present.' _He clapped a hand over the valet's mouth and dragged him into the bowels of the garage. "Look, I can cut your throat and take your uniform," the gangsta growled, "or you can give it to me and get lost. Which sounds better to you?"

"I'm calling the cops on you, pervert!"

"Suit yourself." CJ pulled the valet into a corner, pulled out his blade, and dragged it across the valet's slim throat. Blood sprayed wetly and warmly onto his fingers. The gangsta tossed the valet's dying body onto the ground, realizing that the blood spray could stain the uniform he would have to wear.

Within five minutes, the valet had stopped gurgling on his own blood. Within ten minutes, CJ was squeezing his hard body into the dead man's clothes. And within twelve, the half-naked deceased man's body was stuffed into the Banshee's trunk.

_'Time to get to work, just gotta remember what kind of car Hernandez said this D.A. drives.'_ CJ parked the Banshee in one of the parking garage's parking spaces and ran to the valet's station in front of the hotel. Three other men in identical uniforms stood just to the right of the hotel's main entrance. He wiped absentmindedly at a few spots of blood on the collar of his white shirt and vest. "Ah, you must be the new boy?" asked one of the other valets, an Asian of medium height. Carl nodded. "Get in line."

A gray Buffalo pulled into the hotel's driveway. _'Can't remember the model, but I know it was supposed to be blue, and he wasn't supposed to be here until two a.m.' _He glanced at his watch again. _'It's only 12:12.'_ CJ ignored the Buffalo, allowing another valet to pick up the car.

The Buffalo was followed by a white Landstalker, a yellow-and-black Banshee, and a black Merit. Carl began to become restless and started whistling. _'What's going on, some kind of fuckin' convention at the Vank Hoff?'_ "Hey man, you're not trying to park cars, huh?" another valet asked.

"Uh, nah, I am. I just, uh…"

"I understand bro." The blond valet ran a hand through his hair. "Looking for the right one to test drive, huh?"

"Uh, yeah…" CJ checked his watch. It was 1:48, and his legs were growing restless from prolonged standing.

"Yeah, that's why I took a job like this too. Plus, look at the benefits! You get to smoke on the job, knick people's change and loose fries, and it's not your car! So who cares if you scratch it?"

CJ was spared from responding by the appearance of a blue Merit in the driveway. The nattily-dressed man in dark gray slacks, black-and-gray striped vest, and white dress shirt who exited the car exuded the arrogant confidence of a man of significant power. _'This must be the D.A.'_ Before the blond valet could approach the car, Carl sprinted to the driver's side door. "Don't scratch it, don't steal my spare change, and don't change the radio station," he ordered and sauntered into the hotel.

Carl drove quickly to the Doherty garage, narrowly beating a trolley car speeding up the hill near the hotel. He pulled out his phone and called Cesar when the construction site came into view. "Ay, Ceese? Is Truth's van still in there?"

"You mean this tie-dye scrap metal? Yeah, it's here homes."

"Open up the trunk and get all that stuff in there ready to move." Carl hung up and pulled into the garage next to Truth's van. Cesar stood just behind it with a worried expression on his face. "What's wrong, Ceese?"

The Hispanic waited until the bay doors closed before responding. "Homes, how come you didn't tell me there was a fuckin' garden of hash back here? Are you smokin' this shit?"

"Fuck no, Cesar. I just need it for somethin'."

"Are you sellin' homes?"

Carl popped open the D.A.'s trunk, reached into the van, and lifted out the airtight plastic bags. Each one seemed to weigh at least one hundred pounds. "No, Ceese," the Black grunted, "this is just to do somethin' for Pulaski and Tenpenny. Now, you gonna help me put this green in this trunk or not?"

Over the next hour, Carl and Cesar transported the entire two ton cargo of Truth's van into the D.A.'s trunk. It was exhausting. Throughout the labor, CJ pondered Hernandez's words from their meeting. He pulled out the camera when the trunk was filled and snapped a picture of the trunk and its contents, then a picture of the trunk and its license plate. "What was that for?" Cesar asked.

"Insurance against Tenpenny. I'm not about to be their bitch forever." CJ closed up the Merit's trunk, and Cesar closed up the van. "What you doin' here so late?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I figured I would clean up a little more. Doing all that moving wore me out homes."

"I bet," CJ chuckled. "Meet you back at the apartment?"

"Si homes." The two men bumped fists, and the husky Black drove flawlessly back to the Vank Hoff. No one, not even the on-duty valets, noticed as he steered the D.A.'s car into the underground parking and filled an unoccupied space. Carl dashed from the garage, crossed the street in front of the Vank Hoff, and leaned against a telephone pole in front of the hotel to dial We-Tip.

"Hello, We-Tip? I just saw the San Fierro D.A. at the Vank Hoff Hotel and he actin' kinda strange. You might wanna come check it out."

The squad car pulled up half an hour later, just as the D.A. was climbing into his car. Carl watched as the cops approached the attorney's car in the predawn light. He didn't overhear their entire conversation, but when the police opened the trunk of the car, the D.A. clearly resisted arrest by lunging foolishly at the officers. One of the punched him in the gut and slapped him across the face. Metal handcuffs flashed in the glow of the rising sun, and the handcuffed D.A. was hauled into the backseat of the squad car.

_'My work is done. Now I just gotta dump this Banshee into the bay so cops don't catch me with somethin' special in __**my**__ trunk.'_

* * *

**Author's Note: Recent chapters lacked the mission details I included for the first three chapters. Starting with this chapter, I'll start providing details again. In upcoming chapters, Pitbull returns and has a showdown with Kendl; Ryder comes to San Fierro; CJ gets a little closer to Hernandez; and Sweet starts an interesting relationship. Review with comments and follow to see the next update (hopefully finished tonight)!**


	12. Chapter 12: Deconstruction

**Chapter 12: Deconstruction**

**Cesar's POV:**

It was Kendl's idea that the entire group should set up a permanent camp of operations in San Fierro. She convened all the men together the afternoon following the D.A.'s arrest and described it after laying out her success in acquiring Zero's RC Shop in Garcia and the Hippy Shopper in Hashbury as profitable properties. Where they each lived was left to their decision.

Truth, Dwaine, and Jethro agreed to crash together at an apartment Dwaine rented behind Bing's Bongs in Hashbury. Since she had extra income from subletting her apartment in Blueberry Acres, Kendl leased a condo she had spotted in Paradiso. Cesar had hoped he would be able to join her, but she pointedly stated that she had two roommates, a nurse named Katie Zhan and an entrepreneurial race car driver named Michelle Cannes. "No boys allowed!" she bragged before hopping aboard the trolley to go home that afternoon. Despite her cutting words, Kendl waved at him and blew a kiss.

_'How does she do that? One minute she's hot and craving me. The next, I'm just one of the "boys" not allowed in her apartment? Then she's blowing me a kiss goodbye? Quel es mi mujer hermosa?'_

Fortunately, a store up the street from the garage was renting out its adjacent condo space for approximately $3000 per month. Cesar found it in a pique of desperate searching. It was fully furnished and he could easily afford the condo on his own, but Carl was also without a roommate. After a quick conversation, the two gangstas handed over a large stack of money amounting to $18,000, and the owner of the condo handed over the key. Exhausted from their hasty negotiations, the two men collapsed on the pre-furnished sofas and fell asleep across from one another, ending their second day in San Fierro.

Cesar awoke early the following morning and studied the apartment. The living room floor was blanketed by a rough dark green carpet, but the hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom were imitation parquet flooring. CJ had fallen asleep on a pale brown leather sofa, which was arranged with two armchairs and Cesar's sofa to rest at the four sides of the living room's glass-topped coffee table. Two lamps loomed in the corners of the living room, and 36" screen TV sat in one corner atop an entertainment center that contained a VCR. _'This place is definitely worth eighteen grand.'_

CJ had fallen asleep shirtless. Cesar's eyes drank in the beefy Black's chiseled chest, asymmetrical abs, and bulging biceps. The Hispanic gangsta had to tear away his eyes from the lascivious study of his best friend's body. _'I'm in San Fierro with Kendl now. Things might finally work out between us. I can't be staring at her brother like this.'_ He forced a shirt and a pair of shoes on his own body, and walked out the apartment to find a store that sold breakfast ingredients.

When he returned half an hour later with a bag full of groceries, CJ was still asleep. Cesar's eyes drifted to the prominent lump in the Black gangsta's red track pants. He would have stared for an indefinite time, if the paper bag had not ripped and spilt its contents on his feet. CJ remained asleep. As he scrambled to clean up the mess of bread, plastic-wrapped bacon, and shredded cheese, Cesar silently admonished himself, _'Dios mío, this is a sign, Cesar. Muchachos ain't for you.'_

The Black woke within seconds of the third batch of pancakes reaching golden brown perfection (Cesar found some pots and pans left by a previous tenant in the cabinets and inside the oven). "What time is it?" CJ groaned.

Cesar checked the clock on the wall over the trash can. "Quarter 'til noon, homes, you hungry? I made eats."

CJ sniffed the air with zeal. "Oh yeah, I could definitely use something to eat right now." He rose from the sofa and stretched.

The Latino tore his eyes away from the full display of the husky Black's body. _'Dios mio, estoy mucho cachondo. If only I knew where Kendl and I stand, maybe I'd have some dominio, some self-control. Can't keep going on like this, can't think about Carl naked and pinning me, taking control of me.'_ To his embarrassment, the sex-deprived Latino felt his manhood stiffen at these exact thoughts.

Desperate to avoid Carl's critical gaze from falling upon the bulge in his well-ironed khakis, Cesar turned his back to the husky Black and leaned into the kitchen sink, pretending to scrub a fork. "Go ahead, homes, help yourself."

He listened as Carl's heavy footsteps entered the kitchen. "Ay, Ceese, you got any forks over there?"

"Just the one I'm washing."

"You mind if I come and get it?"

_'Shit, don't say that!'_ Cesar's hardening member sprang to full hardness. He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and held out the fork. "Sure, here you go."

Carl's powerful fingers brushed against Cesar's when he took the fork from the Hispanic gangsta's hand. Then he loomed over Cesar's shoulder to peer into the sink. His potent masculine presence made Cesar's pulse race. "Let me see if I can find a knife, Ceese."

The overpowering presence of Carl's natural musk and the bigger man's body heat were too much for Cesar. "Oh man, I gotta take a shit!" he exclaimed and darted for the bathroom. It took a few seconds to find it in the new condo, but as soon as he found the all-white porcelain throne room, the lean Hispanic locked the door, dropped his pants, and took his slim, brown, uncut erection in his left hand. It throbbed achingly with arousal and curved slightly to the left with a prominent artery along its length. Cesar marveled at the appearance of his own manhood before he began to pump desirously.

_'Kendl sprawled on a poolside chair in a two-piece, blue-and-white striped bikini, sunglasses shielding her eyes. I come out the pool, sexy and ripped like a real muchacho, and she unfastens her top for me, shows me her hard nipples, big manly pecs….Wait, pecs? No, no, she shows me her lolos, her beautiful breasts ripe and firm, says "Come suck my dick, Ceese." No!'_

As the pace of his hand quickened, Cesar yearned to fantasize about Kendl, but the only naked body his mind pictured belonged to her brother. CJ stretched on the beach chair before him in a pair of blue-and-white striped beach briefs, stood up when Cesar rose from the water, and eased down the briefs. Even in his mind, the Latino's mouth gaped at the sight of the Black's massive, proud manhood, so big it terrified him. It curved like a kitchen pipe and was thicker than Cesar could measure with his fist or any other part of his slim body.

_'"Come suck this dick, Cesar." CJ's touching that big black carajo, stroking it, offering it to me, and I'm getting on my knees….No, no, I gotta stop, can't do this, won't do this, no!'_ With a pained roar, Cesar wrenched his hand from his pulsating erection and turned on the shower, as cold as it could get. He flung his naked body under the icy jets of water, biting his lip against the stinging sensation of cold water on his overheated golden brown skin and stayed under the water until his uncircumcised manhood softened.

After both men ate, showered, and put on their clothes from the previous day, the two men left the apartment together. "Man, I'm gonna need to get some my clothes from Angel Pine," CJ grumbled. "You know when Pitbull's coming to San Fierro yet?"

_'Pitbull's the last person I want coming here. I can't be around that pendejo without him kissing me, calling me novio.'_ Cesar shrugged his shoulders. "No idea, homes. I tried calling but he hasn't said anything yet."

Carl locked the door. "Shit, that motherfucker better not have turned snitch on us."

Before the Hispanic racer could mollify his best friend's doubts, a passing pedestrian whistled at the two well-groomed, fresh dressed men. "That is one fine hunk of chocolate," the slim, blond man said. His eyes scanned the height of Carl's burly body. "Can I have a taste?"

The Black's lip curled irritably. "No, the only thing you can taste is the bullet I'm gonna put in your skull, bitch." He lunged at the man, fists balled furiously at his side. With a scream, the pedestrian sprinted down the street. Cesar blocked Carl from pursuing the man. "Fuck, we've only been in San Fierro for two days, and I already hate the town."

"Relax, homes, he ain't the first and probably not the last reinora we gonna see in this town. They got a whole neighborhood full of them! You can't go beat them all up, homes!"

"Yeah, you're right, Ceese. Let's not go into that part of town." The two men walked down the street, but CJ was steamed still. He walked a few feet ahead of Cesar and maintained an aggressive walking pace all the way to the garage. Cesar's eyes drifted more than once to the natural sway of the Black's booty clad in brown Zip khakis and the way the yellow Zip shirt clung to his torso. He had to avert his gaze to the lush trees in full fall foliage at Cranberry Train Station or to the gigantic crack running up the side of the fire station as a result of the dramatic earthquake earlier that year.

At the garage the two men set wordlessly to cleaning. CJ picked up a hammer and cleared out the remainder of the broken glass from the office windows. Cesar retrieved a sheet of sandpaper and a blue surgical mask from the office and resumed the task of scraping paint off the walls. "Ay, Carl, how's life workin' for those chotas?"

Before Carl replied, Cesar heard the well-oiled rumble of his Savanna outside. The car door slammed and Kendl charged into the garage as furious as a bull on steroids. "Do I look like a hooker to you?" she demanded of the two men.

"What?" both gangstas yelled.

"Who said this to you?" Cesar added.

"Those assholes at the construction site next door offered me twenty dollars to strip for them, and forty dollars apiece if I sucked their dirty dicks! I just went over there to find out how much longer construction was going to take!" She stormed into the office.

"I'm not gonna let them talk to mi mujer like that!" Cesar followed Kendl into the office, and CJ pursued him. Kendl was rummaging angrily through the drawers of the lone desk.

"Ay, what are you lookin' for?" the Black gangsta demanded.

"Cesar's gun, I know it's somewhere in here."

"Here it is, right here." Cesar reached under a counter and pulled out his Desert Eagle. "I'm going Filthy Tom on those motherfuckers."

"Give me that!" Kendl shrieked petulantly.

Carl blocked the office doorway with his massive body. "Nah, both of you, chill out right here. I'm gonna teach these San Fierro motherfuckers to respect the Johnson family. Ceese, you got straps in the car?"

"Yeah."

"Kendl, give me the keys." The sassy woman reluctantly placed the keys in Carl's outstretched palm.

"If some shit start to go down, I'm coming over there."

"I got you, Ceese. Take care of Kendl."

When CJ strode out the garage door, Cesar hesitantly approached Kendl. Her arms were folded defensively across her chest, and her lips pouted in a way he found both heartbreaking and demurely sexy. "Mi amor, are you okay?"

"Of course not," Kendl scoffed and folded her arms across her chest, "those pigs at the construction site just called me a whore, Cesar. I've spent my whole life trying to be a classy woman. I know I haven't been perfect, but look at me! Do I look like a classless hoochie mama?"

Cesar appraised Kendl's look. She wore a sky blue man's collared shirt over a crisp white T-shirt and a pair of cutoff jeans that stopped midway down her thick, buttery smooth thighs. To complete the ensemble, a woven belt held up the jeans and sky blue canvas shoes clad her feet. "No, mi corazon, you don't look like a hoochie mama." Cesar suppressed a laugh and approached her with consoling arms. "You are beautiful, stylish, and classy. Those construction workers, they just jealous that they go home and ain't got a woman like you."

He hadn't realized how close they were until his hairy arms crept around her waist and pulled her close to him. Kendl's warm, supple body actually yielded to him. She even rested her head on his chest, to his surprise. "Cesar," Kendl breathed.

"Yeah?" His voice was thick with a heady blend of emotional need and physical lust.

"You always knew how to make me feel good." Kendl tilted her head to his. It was all the invitation Cesar needed to press his lips to hers.

The Hispanic held Kendl's body close to him and yielded his passion to her, his strength to her weakness, his hard manliness to her soft feminine curves. Cesar filled the kiss with every bit of longing from the past months. His nimble hands roamed into her soft, shoulder-length ebony braids and stroked their glossiness until the Latino thought he would go dizzy just from touching her. As much as Cesar poured himself into that kiss, he knew with every nerve in his body that CJ's sister was giving away herself, as much as she could while fully dressed.

He pulled away desperate for air. Kendl's makeup was more than a little messed up, and her dark brown eyes were dilated with lust. "Cesar," she breathed sensually, "I-I don't wanna stop."

"Me neither, Kendl, but I want this to be real." He caressed the delicate curve of her cheek with the back of his left hand, and elicited a soft moan that travelled straight to his swelling manhood. "I want you with me because you know I'm the best man for you, comprende? No jugas con mi corazón….It hurts too much."

"Cesar, I…."

Someone with the worst timing in the state of San Andreas began to bang on the garage door. "Go ahead, mi amor," Cesar insisted.

The door rattled under punishing blows. "Go answer it, Cesar."

"No, baby, I wanna talk to you. We gotta have this talk."

More banging filled the slim gap between their bodies. "If you don't answer that door, Cesar, I will."

He stole a kiss on her cheek, pulled out his Desert Eagle, and strode to the door. "Ay, unless you're Jesus or a nun, you're about to be in trouble!"

Cesar unlocked and jerked open the door. "Have mercy on me, a sinner." Pitbull's 6'4" frame almost filled the doorway. He smiled charmingly at the Hispanic gangsta, and his blue eyes twinkled when they locked with Cesar's. He clumsily held out a bouquet of orange blossoms. "These are for you, mi queridísimo novio."

"Boyfriend?" Kendl repeated. Her hands were fastened to her hips as she stormed her way between the two gangstas and glared in Cesar's face. "Did I just hear him call you his boyfriend?"

"No, mamacita, I called him my novio. It means so much more than your American 'boyfriend.'" Pitbull glowered at Kendl the way Cesar looked at a rat running rampantly through his home.

"Pitbull, what are you doing here?"

Kendl ignored Cesar's question. "That's some bullshit. Cesar taught me enough Spanish to know what novio means. So don't even try me." Her head swiveled on her neck and her left index finger was moving around dangerously when she whirled on Cesar. "And you _still_ ain't answered my question. Did I just hear him call you his boyfriend?"

"Is this how you livin' now, Cesar? You let this negro puta…"

Cesar lunged toward Pitbull, his gun forgotten in his enraged desire to slay the half-Dominican with his bare hands. Kendl restrained him and turned to Pitbull. Although Pitbull towered over her voluptuous frame by nearly two feet, the Grove Street Princess jabbed the prettyboy's chest and held his lethal gaze with one of her own.

"First of all, don't ever in your life call me a bitch again, in any language! Second of all…."

An explosion rocked the garage. Cesar immediately wrapped his arms around Kendl to protect her, but the building was merely shaken by the force of the blast. It originated from the lot next door. "Fuck, CJ's in trouble!" The Latino started to run off then remembered who was in the garage. "Kendl, I promise to explain everything when I return. Don't kill each other while I'm gone." He planted a kiss on her cheek and rushed up the hill to the construction site next door.

Cesar instantly spotted Carl in the driver's seat of a bulldozer that the Black steered around the construction site, pursued by three irate men in hard hats and Day-Glo safety vests. Several other construction workers laid on the ground with bullet holes in their necks and chests. The remains of several flimsy portable trailers were scattered around the packed earth. Flames still danced over the pieces of one of the buildings, which seemed to be the source of the explosion. At the rate CJ approached the last two portables, the angry construction workers were going to catch him.

Cesar aimed without thinking and took down the first construction worker with a bullet to the base of his spine. With his next bullet, the Hispanic blew out the kneecap of a second builder. The third man abandoned his pursuit of CJ and ran toward Cesar with a shovel in his hand. The Hispanic racer blasted his neck open with one shot and left the man to bleed slowly to death.

"What the hell?"gasped a man's voice. The Latino turned and spotted the foreman, a middle-aged, squat Black man, standing outside a Porta-Toilet. His eyes met Cesar's. The foreman timidly sequestered himself inside the toilet. Cesar ran to the toilet and found it locked. "I ain't seen nothing! You just go on and leave!" the foreman yelled.

The rumble of the bulldozer engine alerted Cesar of CJ's arrival. The husky Black kicked at the door. "Ay Ceese, was that the foreman who just went in there?"

"Yeah, it was." The Latino banged on the door with his slim fist. "Come on out, you coward pendejo!"

"Go away, leave me alone!"

CJ dragged Cesar back from the door. "Ceese, that motherfucker knows our faces, and the police are gonna be here soon," he warned murderously, "and these ain't LSPD I'm talkin' about."

"I got you, ese. Look, you go ahead and finish off those trailers," Cesar jerked his head in the direction of the last two portables. "I'll make sure the chota pigs don't hear his eyewitness testimony." The two gangstas bumped fists.

While CJ hopped into the bulldozer and steered it into the corner of the site where the last two portables waited, Cesar removed a chain and padlock from a cord of cleanly sawed through wooden beams, and placed one of the beams against the door of the portable toilet. The Latino wrapped the chain around the beam and the toilet and locked it into place with the padlock. Then he hopped into the cab of a bulldozer idling near a stack of concrete sewage pipes and steered it into the Porta-Toilet.

"Oh, God, no!" the foreman yelped. He pounded frantically on the walls and doors while Cesar drove the toilet toward a pit in the ground intended for the sewage pipes. "Someone let me out! Please! It-it's all in my mouth and eyes!"

_'I've experienced worse, pendejo. You lucky 'cause you gonna be dead in about half an hour.'_ Cesar ignored the desperate man's curses as the toilet fell into the pit, and exited the bulldozer to hop into an idling cement truck at the other end of the pit. In less than a minute, the Hispanic had emptied the cement into the pit to provide the foreman with a concrete grave.

When the last of the portables were fit for matches, CJ jogged over and Cesar hopped out the cement truck. "Let's get back to the garage before Kendl and Pitbull kill each other," the Hispanic gangsta said hastily.

"Kill each other? Pitbull and Kendl, why?" Cesar ignored the bewildered Black and raced to the garage. He arrived in time to see Kendl riding Pitbull's back with one arm clenched around his thick neck and a screwdriver in the other hand.

Pitbull backed into a wall, and CJ's sister took a disorienting blow. The half-Dominican flung her to the concrete floor with an echoing crunch and loomed over her. Possessed with rage, Cesar dropped his gun, rushed him like a bull, and slammed Pitbull to the floor before CJ reached the garage and did worse. The prettyboy shielded his face with his arms, and Cesar rained punches on the gangsta's chest and arms with the determination to reach his face as well.

CJ knelt at Kendl's side upon his arrival seconds later. "Shit, Kendl! You alright, what happened?" The husky Black pulled his tough sister to her feet. Cesar climbed off Pitbull's body and crossed the garage to see for himself to see for himself if she needed medical attention. Other than a few loose braids and a cut near her right temple, she seemed perfect.

"I'm alright. For a nigga his size, Pitbull hits like a fuckin' girl!"

"You were fightin' my sister?" CJ started to storm over to Pitbull, but Kendl stopped him with one outstretched arm. Her gentle eyes found Cesar's lean, worried face.

"Did you see what happened, Cesar? What all this bullshit came down to? It's time you made a choice."

Pitbull climbed to his feet with a groan. "The stinkin' polvo is right. You need to choose, Cesar."

"Choose what?" asked CJ.

The other three people in the garage ignored him, as Kendl charged toward Pitbull with her screwdriver brandished like a knife. "I already told you twice about callin' me outside my name, you sweet ass motherfucker! Do you want another ass whuppin'?"

"If you hate me for being who I am, why don't you leave Cesar alone? He should be mine anyway. I had him first."

Cesar felt every drop of blood drain from his face at Pitbull's proud words. He had to strain to hold Kendl's smaller body from attacking Pitbull because he wanted to annihilate the half-Dominican himself. "I don't know what you _think_ you had with Cesar," Kendl growled, "but my man don't go for dick, ok?"

"Really, you should've been there all those nights he spent at my house back then." Pitbull's blue eyes locked with Cesar's deep brown eyes. Unbidden memories raced through Cesar's mind of locking eyes with the prettyboy during a movie, over a pizza, knelt worshipfully in front of him.

"Tell her about all those nights I kissed your carajo, eh? Tell her how you drank my man juice, Cesar. Tell her…"

Kendl broke free of Cesar's relaxed grip and silenced Pitbull with a punch to his jaw. The half-Dominican collapsed to the floor with an unmanly lack of resistance. Kendl raised the screwdriver over his vulnerable chest, but Cesar snatched the tool from her hand. "No, Kendl, don't!"

She met Cesar's eyes with more pain than he thought he would see in anyone's eyes. "Don't, Cesar? Don't?" Her voice cracked and her lips trembled, but the Grove Street princess was too proud to shed tears when defeated. "Alright, Cesar, I'm done. You can have him."

Cesar suddenly grasped the implications of his actions through her eyes, and lunged desperately to stop her from leaving. "Kendl, wait…." She strolled out the door. "Kendl, it's not what…" He grabbed her arm but Kendl aggressively snatched it back. "Mi amor, just listen to me…" With her head held aloft, Kendl walked down the street in the mid-afternoon sun and out his life.

"Maybe I should go after her."

Cesar turned to CJ. The Black had an expression of unbridled disgust carved into his face. "Ese, please tell her…."

"She doesn't want to hear another word from you, Cesar. And neither do I, dick sucking punk."

CJ marched out the garage to the street, and backhanded a biker straddling a red FCR-900 with chrome flames on the side panels. "Can I have this?" he sarcastically asked, mounted the bike, and sped off.

Cesar remained frozen in place on the sidewalk. His whole world had shattered: His best friend had abandoned him, his girlfriend officially had dumped him, and Pitbull had outed him. The lean Latino sensed Pitbull's hulking presence behind him. "Guess those negros showed their true colors, eh?" He chuckled consolingly and rested a hand on Cesar's ripped right shoulder.

The Hispanic whirled and punched Pitbull twice, once in the groin and again in his solar plexus. "Yeah, me too." He walked back to his condo and left the half-Dominican gangsta gasping for air on the sidewalk.

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**Author's Note: "Filthy Tom" is my pun on the Dirty Harry movies, starring Clint Eastwood. **

**There are six more chapters in the San Fierro strand of this story (although the next chapter technically doesn't occur in San Fierro). Ryder and Big Smoke are coming to San Fierro; there's a showdown coming up between the Loco Syndicate and CJ; and Sweet's prison "relationship" with King takes a serious turn. Also, just to forewarn you, there will be two character deaths outside the GTA canon before the San Fierro chapters are over. Review and follow if you are enjoying.**


	13. Chapter 13: Photo Opportunity

**Author's Note: I don't think I have to place warnings on this chapter. Except for the language, nothing obscene happens here. None of the characters or places are mine, unfortunately.**

**With five more chapters until they leave San Fierro, should I go for the slash scene: Cesar/CJ or Cesar/Pitbull? I've been deliberating it for a few days now. Let me know what you think; please review or PM.**

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**Chapter 13: Photo Opportunity**

**CJ's POV:**

CJ reloaded his Desert Eagle and crouched behind one of the beams of the overpassing roadway. His target, a fresh-faced White teen in Suburban gear, audaciously stood in the middle of the dirt road below. Every bullet fired from the target's gun ricocheted off the steel supports of the bridge. The teen recklessly fired until the 9mm's hammer clicked against the empty chamber and echoed hollowly in the space beneath the bridge.

The Black gangsta turned, aimed, and fired two rounds into the teen's face and chest.

It was as though miniature bombs had detonated beneath the surface of the crack courier's face and chest. His lifeless corpse sagged to the ground minus his nose, right eye socket, and right cheekbone. The front of his shirt was stained with bone fragments and blood from his rib cage. CJ loomed over the body, kicked it to make sure the kid was dead, and scavenged the corpse.

Three days had passed since the incident at the garage, and CJ had not returned there. He disconnected every one of Cesar's desperate phone calls, and refused to return to the condo he shared with the Latino. In those three days, CJ had worked as a valet at the Vank-Hoff Downtown until he had enough cash to purchase the thriving business from its prior owner; and he helped Zero, the electronics whiz, defeat a horde of his arch nemesis Berkley's flying drone airplanes. Rather than returning to the apartment, CJ seized the opportunity to make more cash when a courier at the Hippy Shopper called in ill.

CJ had spent all morning in pursuit of the crack courier from San Fierro through the backwoods of Whetstone and Red County. After he stripped the teen's body of identification, the backpack full of cash, and the pistol, CJ pushed the teen's body into the raging Red River. His bloodied body turned the waters the color of its name as it tumbled down river and from CJ's sight.

_'Fuckin' stupid kid, gettin' into the crack game and can't even shoot straight. Bet Smoke didn't tell him it was part of the job requirements. The kid didn't deserve to die. He was just a fuckin' idiot, about Brian's age when he got killed. I need a drink.'_

He shoved his stolen Freeway into the river as well, in case Red County sheriffs had heard the gunshots, and mounted the kid's dirty Sanchez. CJ steered it into Blueberry Acres without an incident and parked it in front of a bar adjacent to the Ammu-Nation store. Just as he dismounted, six powerful gunshots sounded in quick succession.

The husky Black instinctively dropped to the sidewalk and scanned the street for the shooter. Years of living in Ganton around heavy gang activity had taught CJ two basic rules: Drop when the bullets start flying, and find the shooter before you start running. To his surprise, the street was nearly empty, except for an obese blonde and a hunchbacked old man calmly strolling up the street.

CJ pulled out his Desert Eagle. He anticipated that the shooter would reload and expose his or her location with the next round of bullets. His instincts proved correct, as the next round came from the roof of Ammu-Nation. The Black crept along the sidewalk and climbed the metal fire escape to the roof.

A White woman with pageboy-styled dark red hair stood in front of a target on the wall. She had the body of a magazine centerfold, from what CJ could see: voluptuous hips, slender waist, and a bust big enough in an olive green cut-off t-shirt to be seen from behind. With one hand placed on her camoflauge-clad hips, the woman fired into the target's head, chest, and groin. CJ's eyes roved over her shapely rear end.

"You've got thirty seconds to explain why you're watching me, asshole, before I shoot and kill you," the woman warned without turning around.

CJ cleared his name and rose to his full height. "The name's Carl Johnson and I ain't seen a woman who could handle a nine like that in a minute."

She faced him. Her sky blue eyes raked up and down CJ's body. _'Oh yeah, the pretty lady likes what she sees, I can tell by the look in her eyes. Good thing I got a fresh trim and tape on my fro, and my 'stache shaped up yesterday. Nobody does it like ol' Reece though. Plus, I still ain't gone soft, now that I got a membership at the dojo over in Garcia.'_

"Thanks," the woman said and half-smiled shyly.

CJ recognized that smile. It was the infatuated expression of every woman who had seen something big and black that she liked and wanted. He flexed his chiseled pecs to make them jump. The woman rewarded him with a flushed grin.

"Um, it's a custom-designed Family Killer Jugar six-shooter, modeled on the ones they used for World War Two. It has a firing rate of one bullet every point-zero-six seconds when fully loaded and is accurate to a range of one hundred meters."

_'So the bitch don't just shoot guns, she knows some shit about 'em too.' _CJ ghosted his meaty hands over his white tank to reveal a magnanimous sliver of his magnificent six-pack. The woman's mouth lasciviously fell open before she composed herself, and CJ lowered the shirt's hem. "So why you up here shootin' guns with a one-hundred meter range, at a wall eight feet from you?"

"It is ten feet, and I needed to blow off a little steam."

"Oh, you need to blow off some steam? Let me help you out with that, Miss…?"

"Helena Wankstein, J.D. What do you have in mind?" Helena shifted her hips to one side and invitingly cocked one eyebrow.

"We goin' for a ride."

CJ offered his hand to her, but the redhead lawyer sauntered past it and down the stairs. "You can't afford to touch me, asshole." At the bottom of the stairs, she glanced around the parking lot beside Ammu-Nation. "Where's your car?"

_'Shit I got my work cut out for me. Bet she's a bitch who likes the bad boy gentleman type.' _CJ jogged down the fire escape just as a biker astride a red Freeway screeched to a stop in front of Helena.

"Move your ass!" the biker growled, even though Helena hadn't left the sidewalk.

Before she raised her gun, CJ backhanded the biker. "Fuck off!" To Helena, he gestured to the bike as if it were a golden carriage. "Let's go."

Helena straddled the bike's rear seat, and CJ kicked the biker in his mouth before driving the bike to Palomino Creek. While he drove, the lawyer rambled about her career as a successful divorce lawyer, her remarkably close relationship with her two older brothers, and her private school upbringing. Just outside the town, CJ steered the bike down an embankment and stopped at the edge of Fisher's Lagoon.

"Oh," she moaned sensually, "I just love it around here, don't you?" Helena dismounted from the bike before Carl and walked to the water's edge with her arms outstretched.

"Yeah, I kinda figured a bitch like you had to come out to the country for some reason." CJ approached her from behind, spun her around, and pulled her into an aggressive, lustful kiss.

Helena yielded instantly. With her slim arms flung around CJ's muscular neck, she hopped into his arms and steadied herself by encircling his waist with her powerful thighs. The husky Black cupped her rear end with both of his strong hands.

_'Shit, she got a big ass for a White bitch!'_ CJ found her tongue and wound it boldly into her compliant mouth. She responded with yearning strokes of her own flexible tongue. Her wet, hot mouth and moist, tasty tongue knew exactly how to elicit the sexual beast in CJ to the surface. _'She got me harder than a brick! Tastes good too, like strawberries or some shit. Wonder what that pussy tastes like.' _

"Just so you know, I don't normally do this when I just met a guy, Carl. I'm not a slut," Helena pouted against his lips.

"It's alright, baby. I knew you weren't a slut when we first met. You ain't no virgin, is you?"

"What kind of question is that? I just met you! That's a woman's personal, private business."

Helena was dangerously close to pulling away, so he renewed their kiss. To heighten her arousal, he built friction between them by grinding her hips against his bulging groin. Helena moaned wantonly, and bucked her hips against CJ's. _'I don't care if we just met or not, I bet this bitch is about to give it up right now.'_

The husky Black laid Helena on the ground and covered her lithe body with his muscular weight. "I've never done it in public before," she gasped.

"No one can see us. This ain't public." CJ slipped one hand beneath the hem of her shirt and fondled her perky, braless breasts. They were definitely real. Helena opened her mouth as if to protest, but CJ's callused fingers worked her nipples like they were the combination lock to a treasure below. "Chill baby, Daddy's gonna play with you real good."

His cell phone chose that moment to ring. CJ wanted to snub the caller, but Helena heard the ringing tone and disdainfully shoved him off her body. "Answer your phone, asshole. I'll be over there." She walked toward the bridge over Palamino Creek.

_'This bitch got more attitude than a hood chick. Bet that pussy is good and tasty though. If I don't get it today, whoever the fuck is callin' me is gonna fuckin' die.' _

"Speak on it," CJ growled.

"CJ, it's Cesar, but don't hang up because it's really important, about Smoke and Ryder."

Only those two names spared Cesar the ignominy of another disconnected phone call. Sexual tension added to the Black's ongoing grudge with the Latino racer, but he had a bigger score to settle. "What about them?"

"I been following Ryder the last few days down in Los Santos, trying to figure out why Smoke and Ryder got yay moving between San Fierro and LS. I just spotted him heading to Angel Pine. You gotta come see it."

"Where you at?"

"Outside Blueberry, I'm at the beer factory. Ryder's car just left from here."

_'Knockin' some boots or knockin' out that sherm head asshole, which one is more important? Hmm, I'll definitely go with killing Ryder.'_

"Alright, I'ma be there in about an hour."

"Ok, but make sure you hurry."

CJ hung up the phone and approached the lawyer. Helena's arms were crossed, and her right foot tapped an impatient beat on the soft sand beneath them. The Black was skilled in diffusing the time bomb of an angry woman.

"Baby, that was one of my business associates," he sighed. CJ twisted his face into an expression of desperate, contrite need and forlornly held out his large hands. "I thought I was gonna be free all day to spend time with you, but we got an important meeting in Blueberry Acres. I gotta cut short our time together, baby."

As expected, Helena's arms unfolded, and her scowl softened into a sympathetic frown. "What kind of business is it?"

"I don't want to put you in any danger, so I can't tell you about it. I want to keep you safe from my lifestyle for as long as possible, baby."

Helena approached him and flung her arms around his neck. CJ wrapped his muscled arms around her small waist. "You better make this up to me, asshole."

"I will but this business might take a while to settle baby. You free Saturday night?"

"Yeah, gangsta, I'm free." CJ leaned forward to kiss her, but Helena deftly flipped a white business card into the space between their lips. "I want you to call me at this home number and pick me up from my home address at eight p.m." She appraised CJ's hulking body wrapped in a white tank, blue Zip khakis, and white Pro-Laps sneakers. "And dress better than this."

"Alright, baby," CJ chuckled deprecatingly. "Hop on the bike. I'll take you home."

"No, just take me to Ammu-Nation. It's in Blueberry, and you've got business to handle. I understand."

CJ compliantly drove her back to Ammu-Nation while she chattered incessantly about her childhood and the greatness of the countryside. At the gun store, he waited patiently until she climbed into a brown Bandito before he drove to the Fleishberg Brewery on the outskirts of Blueberry. Cesar's red Savanna stuck out like an eyesore under the beer factory's roadside billboard.

He parked the Freeway next to the billboard and dismounted. Cesar leaned against the passenger's side of the car, smoking. The buff Black detected a mixture of burning tobacco and marijuana, in addition to the overpowering beer in the air. "Hop in," said the lean Latino and tossed CJ the keys.

The Black piloted the Savanna through the hills between Los Santos and San Fierro rather than the Coastline Highway. It was barely past noon, but traffic on the highway was always erratic and inconsistent. As he drove by the San Fierro Tunnel, CJ decided to breach the thorny silence. "So where we goin', Cesar?"

"Let me make a phone call." CJ slowed to the speed limit while the Latino warrior jabbered in rapid Spanish on his cell. Cesar's normally cheerful brown face was somber when he ended the call. He inhaled deeply off the spliff and tossed the roach into the roadside grass. "Ryder's meeting them at the Cluckin' Bell in Angel Pine."

"They? I thought we was just followin' Ryder?"

"I did too. But my contact said Ryder just met up with some other putos."

"It sounds like a serious organization. We could be in way over our heads."

"Carnal, so we can't go in shooting. We gotta find out what they're up to."

"Those motherfuckers sell yay to the homies back in LS and get rich off it." CJ slammed the steering wheel in his rage. "What the fuck else do we need to know?"

"For one thing, we don't know how deep this organization goes. This ain't like takin' over neighborhoods in East LS, homes. This ain't gang versus gang we're talkin' about. We could be in some serious shit, international shit, homes. Trust me, we ain't ready to take on no motherfuckin' Russians or Colombians."

"Ryder killed my moms and lied to my face about it. Don't you understand that shit, Cesar?"

"More than you think, homes. How do you think I got shot in the shoulder, huh? Mi primo, my own cousin, turned on me and Los Aztecas!" Cesar punched the glove compartment. "I know you don't wanna listen to me, homes, but…."

"You don't know shit about me, punk. Just because you fucked one of my GSF homies don't mean you know me."

Cesar turned his face out the window and drummed his fingers against the passenger side door. The Black realized his temper had gone too far, but he was above retracting anything he said, regardless of how angry he felt. Kendl or his moms might elicit an apology from him, but CJ would not apologize to another man.

The two men did not speak the rest of the way to Angel Pine. Cesar's purring engine, the sounds of Radio Los Santos, and the sweet scent of abundant pine trees filled the hushed vehicle. When Ice Cube's "Check Yourself" began to spin, CJ rapped along to it. _'This shit is definitely Cesar right now.'_

"Ay, CJ, stop here." The Black gangsta eased the classic car along the sidewalk in front of the Angel Pine Feed Store. Cesar pointed to the Cluckin' Bell parking lot across the street. "There's the puto's truck right there."

"Yeah, but whose Washington is that? That bitch looks sharp too." CJ pointed to a steel gray Washington parked strategically behind Ryder's brown Picador.

"I don't know, homes, but that Broadway? That's a fully tricked out Pimpmobile if I ever seen one, ese."

The door of the Cluckin' Bell swung open. "Shit!" Both gangstas slumped lower in the front seat, and watched over the curve of the dashboard as a heavyset brunette waddled out with a bucket of chicken cradled in her arms. "Those motherfuckers gotta leave at some point. Let's get off the street, Ceese."

CJ turned off the car and led the way up a fire escape to the roof the feed store. Shielded by the noisy rooftop air conditioner, the two men crouched and waited. A tedious two hours passed before Ryder exited the restaurant. "Ryder, you sherm-head asshole, I'ma fuckin' kill you!" CJ hissed under his breath.

A slim Black man exited shortly after Ryder. He wore a flashy purple suit accented with tacky leopard stripes on the collar and crushed velvet heels. His hair was slicked back and gleamed in the mid-afternoon sunlight. "I told you I saw a pimpmobile, homes!"

"Yeah, I know a pimp when I see one." A camera shutter clicked over CJ's shoulder. He turned to spot Cesar snapping photos of Ryder and the pimp entering their respective cars. "What do you think he's doing with the yay?"

"Don't know, probably tryin' to get into the slangin' game. What you got a camera for?"

"Homes, if these putos are from San Fierro, we gotta ask your boy Woozie if he can I.D. them." A middle-aged, immaculately dressed and groomed White man crossed the parking lot. Cesar snapped a photo of him entering the Washington. "Who do you think that is?"

"I don't know, Ceese, but he looks like a heap of trouble."

Last to exit the restaurant was a husky, middle-aged Latino. The tattoos entwined on his ripped forearms identified him as a gang member, a notorious murderer, and a mama's boy. He scoped the parking lot, unlike the three men before him, and climbed into a green-and-yellow Tampa. "That's T-Bone Mendez!"

"Who's that?"

"Ese, he's the leader of the San Fierro Rifa. I met him once or twice when he bought guns from the Aztecas."

"Where do you think he fit into all this?"

"No tengo ni idea, CJ. Let me ask Pitbull what he knows."

Until Cesar mentioned the half-Dominican, the Black felt reconciled with his best friend. It didn't matter to him if Cesar and Kendl were no longer dating. He needed to trust the Latino, but Pitbull's name reminded him of recent events. CJ stood up and glared coldly at the lean Latino. "Let's go."

They descended the fire escape. "Where you want me to take you, hermano?"

"Drop me off at the gas station." The two men rode the short distance in silence. When Cesar parked to let CJ out, the husky Black hesitated. "So what's goin' on with you and Pitbull?"

"What you mean, homes?"

"Never mind, Cesar, I'll catch you later." The lean Latino offered his fist to bump, but CJ tactlessly ignored it and stepped out the car. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the street to the Angel Pine safehouse as Cesar headed out of sight.

_'If he don't know how he's breakin' Kendl's heart, then I ain't gonna be the one to tell him.'_


	14. Chapter 14: Jizzy B, Part 1

**Author's Warning: This chapter contains dub-con, male on male sexual scenes, and some vulgar language. If you can't stomach it, skip to the next update. However, that chapter will contain dub-con, hetero sexual scenes, drug usage, some physical abuse, and vulgar language. **

**In my defense, this is GTA we're talking about. **

**Author's Additional Note: For those who have been following, there are four San Fierro chapters remaining. And I'll be providing an explanation for Cesar's plotline with Pitbull soon. We'll visit Sweet and his "cellmate" in jail; find out what's going on in Los Santos; and go to Pier 69 for the conclusion of the San Fierro storyline. Stay tuned.**

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**Chapter 14: Jizzy B, Part 1**

**Cesar's POV:**

"Mmm, mi novio, you have no idea how turned on I am when I see you like this," Pitbull teased.

He leaned against the blue walls of the condo in Doherty, which Cesar shared with him and CJ. Pitbull had no shirt on, which was his usual attire inside the condo, but a pair of urban camouflage pants, gray boots, and a Zip Blue watch that suggested he had been out recently. Cesar sighed in vexation and tried to skirt by Pitbull.

In the three weeks that CJ had been absent from his life, Cesar had permitted Pitbull to move in. The half-Dominican prettyboy was thirsting to take the spare bedroom and the sexual accommodations Pitbull anticipated from living in close quarters with Cesar. But the Azteca warrior had defied and maneuvered away every attempt, every flirt, and every opportunity for any sexual contact with Pitbull.

Despite Kendl ignoring his calls, Cesar still loved her and yearned for reconciliation with her. Having Pitbull as a roommate was supposed to help him see things clearly. But the half-Dominican was stubborn.

Cesar hadn't anticipated that Pitbull would linger outside the bathroom until the leaner man was finished with his morning shower. "I keep telling you not call me that, pendejo."

"Que pasa, Cesar?" Pitbull placed his large brown right hand on the door frame of Cesar's bedroom, so low that his arm blocked Cesar from entering. "We live together. What does that make us?"

"We just roommates, Rafael, I don't want you. Mi amor, mi corazon, that belongs to Kendl."

Cesar ducked to pass under Pitbull's outstretched arm and felt a tug on the back of the red cotton towel wrapped around his slim, six-pack lined waist. Cesar tightened his grasp on the towel, and ended up pressed against the hallway wall opposite the bathroom. Pitbull spun Cesar around so that his face was pressed against the wall. With no gun or blade on him and the half-Dominican's clear advantage in height and weight, Cesar faced his own helplessness.

His body began to respond against Cesar's will. Even as he arched his back away from Pitbull's massive body, Cesar lusted for the bigger man's touch as evidenced by the hardening of his member against the softness of the towel around his slim body. Pitbull's hands roamed sensually up his torso and stopped at his nipples to force Cesar backward, closer to him. _'Quehonda, Cesar? Fight back!'_ he thought resentfully.

Cesar's muscles tensed against Pitbull's seduction. "No contraaco, mi amor," Pitbull whispered against the lean Latino's neck. "Give into me." His callused hands began to tweak Cesar's nipples and his lips zoomed toward Cesar's lips for a kiss.

He turned his head so that Pitbull's lips only brushed against his cheek. Cesar tried against to push Pitbull off him, but the bigger half-Dominican tightened the grip of his hands around the lean Azteca warrior. In triumph, he suckled on Cesar's left earlobe while pressing his heavy erection against Cesar's cloth-covered hips. Cesar redoubled his efforts to resist, but the smaller gangsta couldn't break free of the half-Dominican's punishing embrace around his torso.

His kicks landed uselessly on Pitbull's boot-clad feet. Cesar's tattoed biceps were twigs compared to the cannonballs on Pitbull's upper arms. The lean Latino couldn't even resist the reactions his body had to Pitbull's warm breath ghosting upon his skin. It had been months since Cesar had been close to a woman, much less had sex with one, and Pitbull was doing everything in his power to arouse the slim Mexican. It was like he was a kid again, with Rico trapping him behind the big farmhouse in Texas.

"Rafael, get the fuck off me, stop." Cesar despised the pleading tone of his voice more than he hated his manhood for rising to throbbing hardness under Pitbull's foreplay. His body had needs, but his voice betrayed weakness. As Pitbull's left hand slipped beneath the cotton of the towel, Cesar renewed his struggle. "Let me go, pendejo!"

"You know you like it," Pitbull whispered.

"HIJOPUTA! Get off me!"

Pitbull's hand glided along Cesar's bare, damp, muscled torso in a titillating trace of the trail of hair leading from Cesar's bellybutton to his aching, needy manhood. Then it dipped beneath the towel once again. "Chinga tu madre, cabrón! Get OFF!"

Cesar winced as Pitbull's large callused hand wrapped around his engorged length. His hungry body lustfully surrendered to the slow, teasing stroke Pitbull delivered. Cesar's breath shuddered and his eyes closed in a sense of ecstasy. It had been a long time since anyone else had touched his manhood.

"I think you like it, mi amante," Pitbull whispered into Cesar's ear. His strokes were fast but tender. "You chose me over that puta negra. You let me live here even when you knew what I wanted. I think…" Pitbull leaned his head on the back of Cesar's neck and ground his hips into the lean Latino's backside. "I think what you want to say is, 'Get me off, hijoputa.' And I will do that."

Cesar's fighting spirit was extinguished as Pitbull's hand tightened around his manhood and stroked faster. He closed his ears to the guttural words the half-Dominican unleashed in broken English and shut his eyes to the wall shamefully close to his face. Only his body's sense of touch would not cooperate against the caress of Pitbull's hand and the humping of Pitbull's pelvis. Pitbull's hand wrapped around his member felt like bliss on earth, but the lean Latino would not allow a moan, gasp, or even a word of pleasure to escape his lips.

As the moment neared, Pitbull remained quite vocal.

"Novio, how I want to taste your beautiful carajo again….Remember that night in El Corona when I hid behind your house, when tu familia came to visit, you walked out for a smoke and I waited in the bushes?...Muy delicioso….I miss your leche pouring down my throat….Give me your leche again…."

His words had Cesar spilling pre-ejaculate on his large hand. The smaller Latino, with his eyes still closed, reached back and grabbed Pitbull's firm, sweatpants-clad backside and pulled Pitbull's body closer to him. Pitbull's blue eyes finally closed in rapture. "Oh mi amor." He lowered his head to latch his full lips onto Cesar's left nipple.

The suckle of Pitbull's wet, lascivious mouth was enough for Cesar. With a heady cry he suppressed by biting his small pink lips, the lean Latino ejaculated into his towel. Pitbull moaned and ground out his ejaculation against Cesar's butt.

As they leaned against each other in their first post-orgasm glow together in eight months, Cesar realized his phone was ringing. He pushed Pitbull's limp, sated body away and dashed into his room. Revulsion did not begin to describe Cesar's feelings at that moment. Pitbull gaped at Cesar with wide, wounded sapphire eyes, but the Azteca warrior offered no succor as he slammed and locked his bedroom door.

He picked up his phone from the dresser. "Hola," Cesar croaked.

"Ceese, you alright?"

"Yeah CJ, muy bueno. Que pasa?"

"Woozie wants to meet us at the garage."

"Alright, I'll be there in ten."

"Ay, Cesar! Woozie and his crew just got here!" CJ yelled out the office door.

"Alright homes, I'm coming." Cesar had arrived at the garage an hour earlier, after another cleansing shower, and found a vibrant blue Washington in need of a new alternator. He had embarked on assisting Dwaine until Wu Xi Mu arrived. Tossing the ratchet to the shaggy blond mechanic, Cesar said, "See if you can get the last screw loose on that oil filter too, alright? Looks to me like the owner hasn't changed it."

"You got it boss."

Cesar strode toward the office door still dressed in his blue Zip khakis and a spotless white tank. He massaged a knot that had developed from that morning. Then he stopped as he felt the warm caress of Pitbull's breath on the back of his neck.

_'Forget it, Cesar. It was just a one-time thing. You don't go that way.'_

He entered the office with a fake smile on his face. "Hey Cesar, you remember Woozie, right?"

The tall Asian man held out his hand to shake. Cesar was impressed by the flawless, tasteful appearance of Wu Xi Mu and his three Chinese associates. Growing up in El Corona, he had never seen a Chinese person who wasn't a cook in a Szechuan restaurant. Wu Xi Mu and his bodyguards carried themselves with the posture of businessmen in their identical, single-breasted black suits, black silk shirts, and black silk ties. Their spats were uniformly black and gleamed like mirrors. Wu Xi Mu, their leader, stood a head taller than his bodyguards and had a distinguished streak of gray amid his straight jet black hair.

Cesar chose his usual taciturnity in order to better replicate their demeanor.

"It's good to see the two of you again," Wu Xi Mu greeted the gangstas.

"Likewise," responded CJ.

"So, what can we do for you today, gentlemen?"

CJ pointed out three blown-up photos pinned to the wall behind the desk. "We spotted these dope pushers at a meet down in Angel Pine two days ago, and we was hopin' you could I.D. them for us?"

Wu Xi Mu motioned with his left hand, and one of his bodyguards, a stocky man with a thick, muscular neck, stepped forward to examine the pictures. "This is Giu Pi. For lack of a better term, he is what you would call my lieutenant. He knows most of the movers and shakers of San Fierro, as well as a few members of the criminal element."

_'Guppy? Woozie? Man, no wonder these guys dress how they do. If they didn't, some chota would burst out laughing when they hear their names.' _

"This one is T-Bone Mendez, leader of the San Fierro Rifa." Giu Pi pointed at the photo of the musclebound, heavily tattoed Hispanic gangsta.

"Yeah, we know that," Cesar interjected, "but what was he doing with the yay?"

Giu Pi glanced irritably at the Azteca warrior. "San Fierro Rifa used to control just Garcia, but a couple of years ago, they waged war on the Da Nang Boys, the local Vietnamese gang. When the war was over, Rifa controlled Garcia, South Doherty, the docks, and the airport.

"Rifa was trying to control the freight routes," CJ concluded, stroking his goatee.

"And they succeeded for the most part," Wu Xi Mu supplied, "which is probably why T-Bone would be an asset to the Syndicate."

"The Syndicate? What's the Syndicate?"

Giu Pi tapped the photo of the nattily dressed White man. "That's Mike Toreno. Wealthy businessman turned blow dealer. From what we know, he and Mendez partnered up to bring crack into San Fierro from the fields of Colombia. They approached us, but we don't touch blow."

Cesar deciphered that comment to mean the Triads. He glanced at the remaining three pictures. "Ryder and Smoke came to the Locos for a supply. Who's this guy?" Cesar rapped on the picture of the Black man in the ostentatious suit.

"That's Jizzy B. He owns a strip club called the Pleasure Domes in Battery Point. He's also an indiscriminate pimp."

"So that's this whole operation," CJ assessed. "Toreno buys the yay, and Mendez gets it into San Fierro. Toreno probably refines it somewhere, then Ryder buys it up for the LS and Jizzy buys it up for San Fierro. Bet they all rollin' in the dough. I say let's bust up this crack ring and take their fuckin' money."

"Whoa, homes," Cesar interjected, "this ain't no turf war. This is a big time operation. We need some kinda plan, carnal?"

"He's right," Wu Xi Mu added. "The Triads do not approve of what the Locos do, but the threat of all-out gang war on a second front is a risk we can't afford to take."

"Alright." CJ rubbed his meaty hands together impatiently. "What do you kats suggest?"

"Let's go in low-key, infiltrate their operation like undercover cops or something." Cesar tapped Jizzy B.'s picture. "This cucaracha here, he's the weak link. He's our way into the operation."


	15. Chapter 15: Jizzy B, Part 2

**Chapter 15: Jizzy B., Part 2**

**Author's Note: Thanks to ExomTaoLover, VonSchweets, hypertonic, kudoshinici1994, and lynn2008 for following this story, and thanks to ExomTaoLover for the reviews. Y'all keep them coming! That's what had me motivated to do a special update a week ahead of schedule. Hope you enjoy the chapter.**

**Warning: This chapter contains vulgar language, violence, murder, poor Spanish on my part, and graphic sexual content. If you can't stomach it, don't read any further.**

* * *

**Cesar's POV: **

The two gangstas drove from the Doherty garage to Victim in Financial to get dressed up for their introduction to Jizzy B. Cesar parked his Savanna on the sidewalk and followed CJ into the store. The husky Black gangsta seemed to fit into a store like Victim more than Cesar did, even though neither of them had shopped at any store more upscale than Suburban. When they entered the store, the slim Latina cashier greeted CJ with a seductive glance up and down his ripped form. "Try on anything you like, sir."

"Like I need an invitation," CJ scoffed so that only Cesar could hear. Cesar laughed weakly in agreement. The cashier didn't stare lustily at him; he was just a kid from the barrio to her.

CJ scanned the store and led the way up a flight of metal stairs to the second floor of the store. Men's suits lined one wall in varying shades and sizes, while women's suits and dresses lined the other. Hats filled four display tables in the center of the floor. CJ picked out a gray suit and black baseball cap that complimented his spiffy white Prolaps sneakers and darted into a dressing room. Cesar nervously lifted a trim black double-breasted suit with blue pinstripes from the shelf and descended the stairs. A pair of dark sunglasses and black leather biker boots called to the Latino. They fit him perfectly.

Altogether, the outfit cost Cesar $2300. The cashier counted his money twice, held each individual bill to the light, and tested the inks on the paper money for smudging. _'If Carl wasn't standing right here, you'd be dead puta estúpida.'_ Cesar snatched the bag from his hand containing his old outfit and waited for CJ in the Savanna. When they reached the Pleasure Domes in Battery Point, it was after nightfall.

Infernuses, Admirals, and Feltzers packed the parking lot. It was a Friday night, and the businessmen of San Fierro were ready to spend their paychecks in the company of scantily clad women. The bouncers at the door exchanged respectful nods with the two gangstas. Inside the club, the atmosphere was thick with liquor, cigar smoke, and the scent of naked women. Strippers bounced and shimmied on poles around the club while eager men waved singles, fives, and higher before them. Jizzy's bartender, a wiry older Black man with a bored expression on his face, served them two drinks. He returned when CJ and Cesar spent more than ten minutes nursing their drinks. "You boys don't wanna check out the entertainment?"

"Nah," CJ replied and set down his drink on the counter, "we're here to see Jizzy B. Is he around?"

The bartender popped another bottle of Smirkoff for a sweating man in a loosened red tie and mixed it with Sprunk. "That depends. You boys five-oh?"

"Hijoputa, you need to be fired." Cesar laughed. "If we were policía, you just told us that Jizzy got shit he don't want the cops to know about."

The bartender gave Cesar a glare that suggested his fears weren't mitigated by Cesar's words. "We ain't cops. We're just two boys from LS who need jobs. Jizzy might be able to use our skills," CJ said reassuringly.

Cesar's trigger finger began to itch as the bartender continued to eye him. His silencer was stored safely inside his double breasted suit jacket. Before Cesar could reach it, the bartender made a decision. "He's over in that booth with Bettina, the newest dancer. Tell security Eddie sent you."

CJ and Cesar sauntered into the corner to which the bartender referred. Two beefy buzzcut blonds wearing dark eyeglasses, dark single-breasted suits, and evident earpieces guarded the corner. They were larger than even CJ and had Tec-9's strapped visibly to their waists. "What do you want?" asked one.

"This is a private booth," stated the other.

A woman with café au lait skin and slicked back short black hair spun on a pole. Her D-cup breasts jiggled when she spun on the pole and winked upside-down at Cesar. She slid down headfirst. Cesar tore his eyes away as the blue eyed stripper reminded him of Pitbull. It was not a welcome thought. "Eddie sent us."

The security guards stepped aside. Jizzy B. lounged in the booth in a red velvet suit and a proud grin on his face. Two women flanked the Pleasure Domes proprietor. A blonde in a form-fitting white dress and stacked white heels snorted lines of cocaine from the mirror in her lap. On her right, an Asian woman with full lips and voluptuous curves sat blank-eyed as Jizzy B.'s bejeweled fingers roamed under her skirt.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Jizzy stood at the sight of Cesar and CJ, straightening the jacket of his suit. "How'd you two get past security?"

Jizzy's guards pulled out two SMGs. CJ's hands raised in surprise, while Cesar's right hand crept toward his jacket. "Whoa! Take it easy, Jizzy! We just wanna work with—I mean, _for_—you."

"Where you two from?"

"Los Santos," Cesar replied as he stepped forward. "We tryin' to make our way into the game here in San Fierro."

Jizzy skeptically scanned their frames. "What do you do?"

"Whatever you need us to do. Name's CJ Johnson. This here is my boy Cesar. As you can see, I'm built for kickin' ass. And my partner here knows the streets like nobody else."

"You two are in luck." Jizzy snapped his fingers and the two cocaine-fiending whores strutted off. Cesar noticed how both of them appraised CJ and himself. His confidence naturally rose. The pimp jerked his head in the direction of his guards, and the three men walked toward the Pleasure Domes' doo. "I just had two positions open up. You look like just the dumb muscle I need."

Cesar rolled his eyes at the pimp's condescending comment, but Jizzy didn't notice. He sat on the lounge sofa again and reclined. "See here, I'm in the business of knowing the streets. I got eyes and ears everywhere. But in this town, you got to have two ears and two eyes. That's where you two come in.

"I got a pimp hassling my girls to come work for him over in Hashbury. Then I got some punters trying to kill off my girls over in the airport and Foster Valley area. You two go take care of it." Jizzy B. waved dismissively at them.

Cesar and CJ walked out the club and lingered in the parking lot. "I already can't wait to kill this puto," Cesar hissed.

"You gotta keep shit like that to yourself, Ceese, or…"

"Aye wait a minute!" Cesar heard Jizzy's clipped stride approaching them across the parking lot. Cesar froze with his left hand in the pocket of his jacket near his silencer. He turned cautiously and spotted a sizzling hot Latina woman on Jizzy's left arm. Her silky brown braids ran from her hair to her ample cleavage, which was pushed into the tight space of a tied-off men's shirt. Cesar let his eyes rove her bared midriff and the thick, waxed legs that emerged from her suffocating leather miniskirt.

"I got one more assignment for you two. Take this ho downtown to meet her client in my car. Don't fuck up my ho, and don't fuck up my car." Jizzy slapped his car keys into CJ's beefy hands. The Latina hooker strutted to the car and seductively stretched her legs to get into the car.

"Aye Ceese, I think this would go faster if we split up. You take the ho, and I'll go handle the other pimp."

"You want to take my car?"

CJ jogged to a red FCR-900 parked in the lot. It took a few moments of searching, but CJ found a set of keys in a compartment near the engine. "Nobody goes in a strip club with keys in his pocket," the husky Black laughed while revving the motorcycle. "I'll meet you back here when we finish business, alright?"

"Alright, homes." Cesar climbed into the driver's side of the Pimpmobile. The sexy Latina smiled at him. "Que Honda? Where we headed to?"

"The Vank Hoff downtown," replied the hooker.

Cesar carefully steered the gold Pimpmobile into the busy traffic of rush hour Battery Point traffic. In the passenger's seat, the hooker pulled out a mirror and examined her brown braids and heavy makeup. Cesar gave her a glance, nothing more. If not for the makeup, the Latina hooker had the face of a very beautiful woman. After she was satisfied with her primping, the hooker removed a coke baggie from her purse, spread its contents on the mirror, and inhaled the whole pile with two strong snorts. "Ooo, what a strong pecho."

She trailed her curved, acrylic fingernails up Cesar's arm. "Si, I work out a lot." Cesar steered the car into Paradiso, heading toward Jim's Sticky Ring Donut Shop. The suburban neighborhood was less busy than the Battery Point area.

"Ever had half-and-half with a sucia like me?" the hooker whispered into Cesar's ear.

"Puta, you don't know what you talkin' about." _'Still, it's the most play a puta's given me in months. And I'm tired of Pitbull. I like the muchachas.' _Cesar glanced at the hooker's light brown skin complexion and envisioned Pitbull or Kendl sitting beside him. It was impossible. "Challe, I'm taken, see?"

"I'll do things your ruca won't!"

Cesar studied the red lace of the hooker's bra, visible under the collar of the tied-off shirt. _'Sus tetas want my mouth on them. And that polvo could use a good pounding,' _Cesar thought. He slowed down a hill behind a supermarket and not because of the traffic. "Really now?"

"Que tu quieres?" she whispered in his ear. Her hand found purchase on the length of his stiffening manhood.

That was all the initiative Cesar needed. He turned left and quickly found a Xoomer gas station across from the Paradiso Burger Shot. The Azteca warrior parked the Pimpmobile behind the gas station. Before Cesar pulled the key out the ignition, the Latina hooker had crawled into his lap and kissed him passionately. Her lips were soft but skilled. Cesar's soldier rose to full attention.

She moaned against his lips from the feeling of his hardness between her legs and arched her back. Cesar growled at the sight of her breasts and untied the shirt with one hand, while holding the intoxicated hooker off the steering wheel with the other hand.

The Azteca warrior kissed the soft mounds of her light brown breasts, tracing the hard imprint of her nipples with his pliant tongue through the lace of the bra. Cesar forced her to sit upright again, captured her mouth with his, and forced his thick tongue into her mouth to flick against her tongue. Cesar let his hands roam over the hooker's soft, well-rounded backside. When she leaned in close to him, he smacked her booty. It jiggled like Jell-O in an earthquake.

"Ay papi, me chinga!" she moaned ecstatically.

Cesar's hands, roughened from working on cars the last three weeks, drifted beneath her skirt. The hooker moaned with increasing pleasure, and Cesar's manhood throbbed in a desperate need for attention. She wasn't wearing any panties. The soft pretty lips between her thighs were warm, wet, and waiting. Cesar slipped two fingers inside her, making the prostitute tremble with ecstasy, and raised his moist fingers to his lips.

The Latina's juices were salty but tangy, like a sip of a lime margarita.

She leaned into the kiss and her tongue danced a tango with Cesar's. The Azteca warrior wrapped one corded arm around her waist to pull her supple body flush with his. The sensation of her hard nipples, her plump breasts pushed against his ripped chest had Cesar's member throbbing. He unzipped his pants with the hand he had just tasted. The hooker reached back, positioned his manhood, and impaled herself upon the throbbing, needy shaft.

Both Latinos gasped in the cool night air, but it was the prostitute who engaged more verbally. "Ay! Su carajo! Papi, su carajo es muy grande!" Cesar gasped for air between gritted teeth while the hooker pivoted her hips back and forth.

It had been nearly eight months since any woman's wet walls had welcomed Cesar's manhood. A man could forget the feeling. But he could not forget what to do when the opportunity arose.

Cesar slipped both hands to the prostitute's clothed hips and began bucking his own hips in time to her rhythm. The squeaking shocks of the car formed a steady, musical rhythm in the autumn night air. The hooker moaned a stream of invective-laced Spanish while she and Cesar rutted in Jizzy's car.

After what seemed like hours, she whispered headily into his ear, "Come on, hijoputa, make mami cum!" Her words sent a magic signal straight to Cesar's groin. Feeling his orgasm near, he pulled her from her straddling position and laid her across the front seat. Cesar grasped his manhood and plunged face first into the hooker's lap.

His skilled tongue worked into her pulsating womanhood, grazed her engorged clitoris half-hidden between the unshaved lips, and began to swirl between her thighs like a cyclone. The Latina cursed him, cursed herself, cursed God, yet all the while, she held Cesar's head between her thighs. Her body writhed with unbridled pleasure. Her face contorted with intense emotion.

Within a minute, she gave a shuddering gasp and climaxed in Cesar's mouth. It tasted like key lime margaritas. Fifteen seconds later, Cesar ejaculated on her silky smooth thighs.

They laid there, Cesar's head on her stomach, his slowly softening erection still in hand. The whole encounter had lasted less than fifteen minutes. Cesar could have been convinced it had taken hours. He zipped himself up and nestled his head in the cleavage of the prostitute breasts, firm and supple beneath his rough, unshaved face. "Cambien de tu quieres, puta?" Cesar trailed his tongue along one pert nipple.

"For you, cabrán, it's free."

* * *

Cesar dropped her off at the Vank Hoff downtown without another moment's delay. Neither spoke to the other during the short drive, but the hooker did take another hit of crack off the mirror in her purse when they pulled into the Vank Hoff's valet-serviced driveway. Cesar watched the prostitute's alluring body disappear into the hotel. Before he pulled off, Jizzy's car phone rang. "Hola, que tal?"

"It's Jizzy." Cesar's upper lip curled with revulsion. "One of my girls called from Foster Valley, near the highway. Some punters is down there giving them a hard time. I want you to go take care of it."

"Si, it's done." Cesar hung up the phone. When he studied it, Cesar realized that the phone was shaped like a naked woman on her hands and knees with her booty raised in the air. The receiver was shaped like a bed. Cesar chuckled; even if Jizzy was repugnant, he had a sense of humor. Cesar sped through Financial and was driving through Doherty when his personal cell phone rang. "Que tal?"

"Cesar, you dropped off that ho yet?"

"Si, but Jizzy called, he's got some new problem down in Foster Valley."

"Ok, I just took out Jizzy's competition in Hashbury," CJ reported. "I'm on my way to Foster Valley."

"Meet me near the interstate, home, hasta luego." Cesar hung up and drummed his fingers impatiently while waiting for the light to change near the Garcia dojo. _'Chinga, I ain't been to the gym in three days. Need to get back in, get a little buffed now that I can.'_ Just after the light changed and before Cesar could accelerate, his cell phone rang again. Cesar spat out an irritated, "Who is this?"

"I just saw you leaving the Vank Hoff Cesar and that cualquiera you dropped off," Pitbull whined. "Que pasa? You wanna fuck a ho, but you won't fuck me?"

"Where I stick my carajo is my business, Rafael. You and I was done long time ago."

"Chingados! Cesar, you gave me leche this morning, but you say we done long time ago. Why do you treat me like mierda?"

Cesar shook his head in frustration. There was a time when Pitbull's ripped body, supple mouth, and blue eyes drove Cesar insane with desire and lust. There was a time when the half-Dominican was the most beautiful person, man or woman, Cesar had seen in his whole life. Pitbull had stimulated Cesar in ways that Cesar had never thought possible. Because they were in rival gangs, they had kept things quiet, and they had never gone all the way sexually. Yet Cesar had hoped for a long-term relationship. Pitbull was the one who ruined everything. And when his heart was devastated beyond anything he imagined, when Cesar was about to do something he never fathomed, Kendl had walked into his life.

"I gotta go," he said coldly and ended the call. He slowed as he approached the double-lane overpass of the interstate to search for the punters. Cesar spotted their van first. It was a battered white Camper with a bold blue stripe along the middle and a rear door painted red, parked near one of the pylons supporting the highway. Cesar pulled behind it and parked.

The punters were a few dozen yards away. Both were White; one was blond in a ragged blue plaid shirt and worn out jeans, but the other was bald in an orange hoody and black sweatpants. They stood over a hooker in a bloodied white shirt and red skirt, who was desperately shielding herself against their blows. Cesar reached into his suit jacket and called out, "Hey!"

Neither man looked in his direction. Neither man saw the two rapid shots to their heads that ended their lives. The grateful hooker climbed to her feet and brushed off her clothes. Cesar took two steps toward her. She was crying profusely on her bruised face. "Hey, it's ok," he said reassuringly. "Jizzy sent me."

"That asshole, done something nice for one of us?" she croaked.

Cesar shrugged his shoulders. "Que sera, sera." He looked around the crime scene at the two dead men. "Look, go ahead and take their van. Get out of here."

The prostitute wiped off her tears and the blood on her face. She warily watched Cesar before climbing into the van. "Jizzy won't put me to work like this, you know."

Cesar looked away. "Creo que si, but do you want this kind of life for the rest of your life?"

"You would let me get away?" Cesar chose to answer her question by climbing into the Pimpmobile and dialing Jizzy's number. The prostitute had driven off before Jizzy answered.

"Ay Jizzy, I took care of those punters who was giving you trouble."

"Who gives a fuck about the punters? You bring bad luck, refried beans!"

Cesar restrained himself from unloading a slew of Spanish curses on the pimp. "What you talkin' about, Jizzy?"

"One of my girls just called and said she wants out of the game! She's one of my best and brightest!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Go to the Vank Hoff and take that ho out! Matter of fact, take out her sugar daddy too. Make her an example to all my hoes!" Cesar slammed the phone on its receiver. He pounded the steering wheel with his fists. _'Motherfuckin' puto!' _

A motorcycle rumbled to a stop alongside the Pimpmobile. CJ hopped off and leaned into the car. "Don't tell me I missed all the fun?" he panted.

"Nah, this puto wants us to ice his ho now. Hop in."

While CJ loaded a new clip into the Tec-9 in his lap, Cesar drove onto the highway. "Ay Ceese, do you smell that?"

"Smell what, CJ?"

The husky Black locked eyes with Cesar. "Smells like somebody been fuckin' in here, real recently too. You ain't….?"

"Qué? You think I fucked una cualquiera? Nah, ese. I ain't got that low yet."

"Oh, I just thought…You know, since you and Kendl split up, a man gotta have needs."

"Nah, homes, I wouldn't trade down from your sister like that." _'Chingas, I feel bad for lying, but CJ don't leave much choice. Mifamilia's all gone. He's all I got left, him and Kendl, and Pitbull almost took them too. I ain't gonna lose them again.' _

"Kendl has a special place in mi corazón, homes, even if we ain't together. Creo que si, I'm gonna need more time to recover."

"I understand, but still, she was lookin' too nice to be a ho. Even I wanted a piece of that," CJ laughed.

"Homes, you chingas every cualquiera you see. Cuanto girlfriends do you have now?"

* * *

Cesar reached the intersection where Victim and the Vank Hoff Downtown cast their shadows just as the Latina hooker and her john exited the hotel. Her customer was a nearly bald, gray-haired and liver-spotted TV preacher, whose broadcasts Cesar occasionally watched. The two walked arm in arm to the preacher's pearl white limo flanked by four bodyguards. Two climbed into a black SUV in front of the limo, and the other two climbed into the one behind the limo.

"CJ, how we gonna kill this puta when she got all these bodyguards? It's like the fuckin' Secret Service guardin' her!"

The husky Black winked at Cesar. "Don't worry man. I got a plan. Gimme your silencer, and pull up on the sidewalk right there."

The light had turned green, so Cesar eased the Pimpmobile to parallel the SUV at the head of the convoy. CJ rolled down his window. Before the cars could pull off, he pumped three slugs into the driver's side window. The first shattered the glass and stopped in the driver's throat. The other two lodged in the second bodyguard's head and neck.

A scraping of metal on metal caused Cesar to look around. "Oh Lord! The devil's right hand comes for us!" the TV preacher yelled from his limo. It had crossed the sidewalk in front of the hotel and pulled into traffic. Two pedestrians flew over the hood of the limo as it hurtled down the hill toward the bay front.

"We gotta stop that motherfucker before he gets away!" CJ yelled.

Cesar glanced at the remaining SUV. "Homes, we got bigger problems: two idiotas with guns, on your right!"

CJ glanced at the two bodyguards aiming .9 mm's at the Pimpmobile. "Follow that fuckin' limo!"

Cesar sped after the limo. In the passenger's seat, CJ swapped out Cesar's silence for the Tec-9 he had brought along. A barrage of bullets rained upon the Pimpmobile when Cesar nailed the U-turn in front of the Vank Hoff but disappeared once the car was down the hill. The limo was careening down Esplanade North. If they weren't pursuing the hooker and the preacher, Cesar would have envied the limo driver's obvious skills.

"Damn, Ceese, speed it up! I thought you raced and shit?"

"Ay homes, don't disrespect my skills! Watch this!" With one hand, Cesar tuned the radio to CSR 103.9, where Bell Biv Devoe warned about "Poison." _'Perfect song for this puta here.' _ With his other hand, Cesar steered the car through traffic until he caught sight of the limo trying to outpace a trolley car. "If they can't get by that trolley car, they can't get away from us!" Cesar bragged.

The Pimpmobile easily caught up to the limo. Cesar steered the car to block the limo's attempt to head back into downtown. When the driver slammed into him, Cesar spun the wheel a quarter turn left, then flooded the engine and spun hard right. The impact made both gangstas curse in surprise. "Whoa there, girlie!" they heard the preacher exclaim within the limo. "Be careful with the 'little preacher' there!"

Cesar rammed the limo again. _'This ain't personal hijoputas; this is just commerce, carnal?' _ The limo attempted to climb the next steep hill, but CJ leaned over the passenger's side door and opened fire. Bullets ripped through the metal frame, shattered glass, and rattled the people within the limo at 50 rounds per minute. The rattled engine, which took a significant battering, smoked ominously.

When Cesar rammed the limo again, the engine caught fire. CJ finished the clip, and the limo exploded. "Whoo! That's a lot of fire, ain't it, Ceese?"

"Yeah, homes. Let's go get this shit repainted before SF chotas come breathing down our necks," Cesar replied. He steered the car toward the downtown body shop owned by Kendl's roommate, Michelle. When he pulled the car into the garage, CJ exited to find Michelle. Cesar dialed *69 to retrieve Jizzy's number.

"Who's this?"

"Ay Jizzy, everything's been taken care of. That ho won't be quitting the game; she just got fired."

"Good work, beans boy. Hey, that car is up on the APB. Get rid of it, then come to the Pleasure Domes for your pay."


	16. Chapter 16: Mike Toreno

**Author's Note: I originally posted this chapter on Wednesday with some sexual innuendos and a sexually charged scene with Sweet. However, my first review for this chapter pointed out that slash scenes are detracting from the writing of this story. With all due respect to that guest reviewer, I took down that original chapter and revised it to the following.**

**I want to take this opportunity to provide some clarity to my readers: I am not homosexual, bisexual, or trans-whatever. No offense intended to any non-heterosexual individuals out there, but I don't go that way. I'm being one hundred percent honest when I say this. I won't provide any further details about my personal life. As I stated on my profile, sometimes I think slash scenes make stories better. I was very hesitant to take any sexual scenes between two men too far, because that's not how I get down, but yesterday's lone review confirmed I had gone too far. **

**I apologize if anyone was offended and will conclude all gay storylines.**

** Thanks to domstrong6985 for the latest following, and thanks to ExomTaoLover for the latest review! In case you all are wondering, there are two more chapters left in the San Fierro Chapters of this story. And yes, I'll be covering the Las Venturas portion of the game as well. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. Sorry for the delay. **

* * *

**Chapter 16: Mike Toreno**

**CJ's POV: **

"To the airport! Rapida!" T-Bone hissed.

CJ cut his eyes to the rearview mirror of the gray Premier instead of rolling his eyes. Cesar, riding in the backseat in a dark blue hoody and jeans, seemed to echo CJ's barely suppressed resentment of the Rifa gang leader. The two Los Santos gangstas had been working for the Loco Syndicate for all of a week now. Working for men like T-Bone and Jizzy was becoming a hassle for Cesar and CJ.

For one thing, CJ's twice weekly raids of shipments of money had made the Locos extra cautious. That in turn fostered difficulty for the two gangstas' ability to play a double agent role. It didn't help their cause that the Locos were more like unrelenting telemarketers than managers of the state's largest drug cartel. Jizzy was blinded by his belief that he was irreplaceable in the organization and constantly called CJ's cell. Even CJ could see how much T-Bone loathed him, and CJ was supposed to be dumb muscle.

_'This third guy has to be smarter than these other two fools. I shit better than they think.'_ As they approached the airport from the highway, it was obvious that this location was spot on the description T-Bone had relayed. "Look, somebody took out the security guard," CJ said, pointing to the dead man in front of the gate. Cesar made the sign of the cross over his torso and mumbled a prayer. Lately his best friend had started going to the cathedral in Hashbury. "That van has to be around here somewhere."

"Good, now we can use the tracking." As CJ sped through the gaping gate, T-Bone pulled out a gray device the size of a TV remote control.

"What's that?" CJ asked.

"After the last shipment got intercepted, Mike and I decided we should start using homing devices to track the white and keep it safe. When we get closer, the signal on this tracker is gonna get stronger."

"That's a smart trick, ese," Cesar said. "Is it in all the shipments?"

CJ grasped the hidden intent behind Cesar's innocuous question. _'If the Locos got trackers on their dough, then we in some hot water.'_

"No, idiota, and don't you ask another question." Suddenly T-Bone dropped the tracker on the floor of the car. "Mira, there goes the van!"

CJ spotted the speeding van without T-Bone's help. It was speeding down the airport's runway, accompanied by four men on Freeway motorcycles. SMGs gleamed in the sunlight at their hips. "Shit, they're ready for battle!"

T-Bone loaded two handguns and scowled. "Si, they want a battle, we'll give them a fuckin' battle! Get in front of the van, rapa!"

CJ slammed his foot onto the accelerator and whipped the Premier to align with two of the bikers. He heard the rear window roll down, and Cesar launched an assault of gunfire on the van's escorts. The first two riders fell off their bikes, their black shirts wet with blood. "Who the fuck are these fools?" Cesar demanded.

"Snakeheads—the local Vietnamese gang—they've been after Rifa territory for years now."

As CJ pulled alongside the yellow van, T-Bone leaned across him and began shooting at the van's driver. His first few shots shattered the passenger's and driver's windows, but the driver, a Vietnamese man with a Mohawk, dodged every bullet with superhuman luck. "Pendejo! Where you think you goin' motherfucker?"

CJ looked ahead to the end of the runway. At the end, concrete blocks sloped from the asphalt to provide additional lift for planes reluctant to leave the ground. Just beyond those blocks, CJ noticed the mast of a cargo ship. "They're trying to get the van on that cargo ship!"

"Not if I can help it," T-Bone growled. He and Cesar lowered their guns to reload. It was while they were preoccupied that one of the other bike riders pulled alongside the Premier's passenger side and opened fire.

CJ ducked as the barrage of bullets pierced the car's side panels and shattered the passenger's windows. Broken glass sprayed his husky body, and CJ heard T-Bone curse rapidly in Spanish. When the Vietnamese shooter's clip emptied and the storm of bullets passed, CJ sensed T-Bone sitting upright beside him. "You want some, puto?" At almost point-blank range, T-Bone dropped the gangsta from the bike with three swift shots.

"I got this one, ese," CJ told T-Bone. He pulled out his Desert Eagle from his waistband and fired off a full cartridge at the driver of the van. The Asian man's head exploded from the force of the bullets that ripped through his skull. The van screeched to a halt.

"You got skill, homes, but no finesse," Cesar mocked.

CJ laughed, but T-Bone sniped, "Shut the fuck up, hijoputa. You ain't do shit just now, so keep your dumb mouth shut. We gotta go get Mike." In the rearview mirror, CJ noticed Cesar scowl and offer T-Bone a middle finger.

T-Bone exited the car first. "Bet that feria wasn't even worth it, huh?" T-Bone asked the Vietnamese gangsta's corpse. He laughed and pointed at the fourth gangsta speeding into the distance. "Maricon, look at that pendejo haul ass outta here!"

CJ opened the double doors of the yellow van. Mike Toreno leaped out the back of the van with a 9 in each hand and aimed his guns at Cesar and CJ. While Cesar glared defiantly at the gun in his face, CJ innocently raised his hands. "Who are these two assholes?"

"We just helped save your life, ungrateful gringo," Cesar growled.

"Nobody asked you." Toreno drew back the hammer. Cesar's glare remained unyielding.

"They're Jizzy's men."

"Jizzy's men?" Toreno scoffed. "Alright, how about you make yourself useful? We gotta torch this van before cops come."

"What? We ain't torching nothing! There's three hundred seventy kilos of white in there!" T-Bone yelled in outrage.

"There's three hundred and ninety, but unless you want to learn math in an orange jumpsuit for the next ten years, you'll follow my orders and destroy the van." Toreno stared down T-Bone. CJ had no doubts about who was the leader of the Loco Syndicate. It was also obvious that T-Bone wasn't ready to be subordinate.

Cesar cleared his throat. "Uh, before we get rid of the cocaina, I'll move the getaway car."

As Cesar backed up, Toreno opened fire on the van's gas tank. T-Bone hesitantly contributed, and CJ reloaded his gun. Within seconds, the engine block was alive with flames. Alright, let's get outta here before the cops show up," Toreno ordered.

"Too fuckin' late!" CJ pointed at four black and white cruisers speeding from the underground parking structure of the airport. Toreno, T-Bone and CJ sprinted into the car. "Ceese, floor it!"

"I got it, CJ!"

T-Bone removed the plastic floor mat beneath his seat, and opened a secret compartment filled with guns. CJ spotted a few 9's, two silencers, a sawnoff shotgun, and three Tec-9s. T-Bone pulled out a Tec-9. "I got somethin' for those pigs," he laughed.

"Put it away, T-Bone," Toreno warned. "The last thing we need is the police force coming after us with a grudge." He turned to Cesar. "Hey kid, you think you can get us out of here without killing us or the cops?"

"No problem, you just hold on tight, carnal?" Cesar concentrated on two approaching police cruisers. The cops guessed at the Azteca warrior's maneuver but they were two seconds too late. Cesar easily slid between them without a scratch and swerved to avoid a third car approaching head-on.

Two more cop cars approached, and Cesar cut a half figure-eight around them. Both cops squealed to a halt. Another hurtled toward the driver's side in a P.I.T. maneuver. Cesar slammed on the brakes and gas, and whipped the car safely out of the oncoming cops' path.

When he straightened the wheel, a total of six cop cars were in pursuit. CJ saw Cesar looking for an exit. The Latino's options were limited. Then Cesar focused straight ahead. "Ok, so we're going a brand new way!" Cesar fishtailed, straightened, and sped toward a sloped bunker facility at the other end of the runway.

"Hijoputa, are you loco? You gonna kill us all!" T-Bone yelled.

"Nah, let Ceese handle it. He knows what he doing."

Cesar grinned at CJ as the car hit the sloped roof of the bunker at 120 mph. As they launched into the air, CJ glanced out his window at the strip of water separating Easter Bay Airport from mainland San Fierro. _'Shit, this is too high for me!'_ Cesar cut the gas and turned the wheel. The car miraculously thudded onto the sidewalk of Esplanade. CJ and T-Bone let out sighs of relief.

"Alright, good job kid. Take us to the spray shop in Doherty. T-Bone, get their wallets."

"What? Hey!" CJ lunged at T-Bone when he reached into the Black's right front pocket. The half-Mexican gangsta put a silencer to CJ's forehead. The Black gangsta remained still as his brown leather wallet and Cesar's tan leather wallet passed into Mike Toreno's hands.

"'Cesar Vialpando' and 'Carl Johnson, Junior,'" he read from their licenses. "Alright, I've seen enough here." He passed the wallets back to their respective owners.

"Hey, there was a twenty I had in there. It had better still be in there," CJ said.

T-Bone laughed. "Shut the f- up."

* * *

**CJ's POV:**

"Sixty-eight hundred, sixty-nine hundred, seven thousand." CJ separated the paper money into two neat stacks and handed Cesar the one closest to the Latino. "That's your cut, Ceese."

"I can't believe that agarrado gringo!"

"Are you tellin' me you tryin' to make serious paper off their drugs? You know they slang that yay in the barrio too." CJ folded up his cut and shoved it into his right sock, nestled inside his sneakers and concealed under his gray sweatpants.

The two men had met at the hotel suite CJ rented at the Vank Hoff on the Park, on the west side of San Fierro. It was close enough to their apartments that it was technically neutral. CJ had hidden a substantial cache of guns in the drawers that the hotel's housekeeping never seemed to clean. Both gangstas had dressed casually to divide their cut of Mike Toreno's payment.

"I'm just sayin' homes, esta aceptable, but we deserve more. We risked our asses out there, sale!"

"Man, whatever. I'm ready to shut these motherfuckers down."

They rose from the floor, where they had knelt to count out the money, and left the hotel room together. "Me too, homes, but mira, we gotta wait until the Locos puedan confiar, can trust us." As they approached the bank of stainless steel elevator doors, Cesar changed the subject. "Como esta Kendl? Is she doin' alright?"

_'Four, almost five weeks since he's seen her, and Cesar still askin' about Kendl. Damn, I hope this Helena bitch don't turn me out like that!'_

"She's doing alright, Ceese. She goes to Greenglass College in Las Venturas now, and she's still workin' at WCTR."

"My woman—I mean, your sister—she's a real trabajador." Cesar stared wistfully at the floor numbers. If CJ hadn't been wondering how to cheer up his best frined, he would have missed the purple and black bruises near Cesar's shirt collar because the white dress shirt covered them almost entirely.

"Ceese!" Startled, the Hispanic turned to CJ. "What happened to your neck, homie?"

His brown face suddenly turned a paler shade, and his large brown eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. "I-it's nothing t-to w-worry about, CJ."

_'What the fuck? It's nothing to worry about?'_ CJ reached for his best friend's shirt collar to examine the bruises more intently, but Cesar slapped away his hand.

"Mira, I said it's nothing to worry about. I can handle it on my own."

When CJ lunged for the collar again, Cesar backed up. His eyes were simultaneously frightened and angry, vulnerable and defensive, retreating and unyielding. The stairwell was behind Cesar. "Whatever's goin' on, you don't need to be running from it. That needs to be looked at, man. Let me help you, Ceese."

"Hasta luego, CJ. Tell Kendl I love her." With those parting words, Cesar backed into the stairwell and took off.


	17. Chapter 17: San Fierro Fastlane

**Author's Note: Thanks to ExomTaoLover and a Guest for the latest reviews. I really appreciate the feedback that you guys give me, especially about future events in this story. The upcoming chapter will be the last in the San Fierro chapters of the game. There will be non-canonical deaths of several major characters in that chapter. Please continue to review, even if it's negative feedback.**

**Warning: This chapter contains vulgar language and descriptions of violence. If you can't stomach it, don't read it.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: San Fierro Fastlane**

**_Two Days Later:_**

**Ryder's POV:**

"Speak to me and make it quick," Ryder said into the mouthpiece of his cell phone. The short Black gangsta was smoking a spliff of high-grade marijuana in his brown Picador on the road to Dillimore. Mike Toreno had called a meeting with the Loco Syndicate, Ryder, and Big Smoke, and from his authoritative tone, the meeting was an emergency one. _'I'll be damned before I let that fat motherfucker beat me to Dillimore.'_

"You lookin' for Cesar Vialpando, correcto?" a Hispanic man asked.

"What if I am?"

"I know where he is."

Ryder tossed his blunt out the window, even though it was only half-smoked. He didn't want the risk of distraction or confusion when he heard this crucial information. Ryder even sat upright in the tattered leather seat of the truck. "Where he at?"

The Hispanic man laughed. "First, you and me, we gotta discuss dinero."

"I'll pay you five hundred dollars if you tell me where he is right now."

"Loco, what do you think I am? Some street tonto del culo? You get Cesar Vialpando when I get one thousand, ese."

Ryder sensed that the voice was familiar, but chose not to ask for a name. He needed to close the deal. "Alright, one thousand dollars, if you get Cesar to some place I can cap his punk ass. _Two_ thousand dollars, if you tell me where Kendl Johnson is too."

The Hispanic man chuckled. "Bien, you have yourself a deal. You got a pen and paper?"

Ryder pulled to the side of the road and dug out a few scraps of paper and a black ink pen from his glove compartment. "Alright, give it to me."

"Tomorrow morning, I want my two thousand dropped in the orange newspaper container in front of Cranberry Station in San Fierro, bien?"

"Yeah, I got you." The Black gangsta scribbled furiously.

"You gonna find Cesar's location in the first newspaper on the stack of morning newspapers inside. Better have my money." With that, the Hispanic man ended the call.

"Shit, they both better be wherever you say they're gonna be," Ryder said aloud to the truck. "Otherwise, I'ma find your ass and pay you with bullets."

Within a few minutes, Ryder eased his Picador into the parking lot of the Dillimore bar and gas station. _'Shit, Smoke, Toreno, and Jizzy already got here before I did. Hate being the last motherfucker to these meetings.'_ Ryder parked his truck next to a Camper van and sauntered into the bar as casually as he possibly could. He was dressed to impress in some new gear purchased with his cut of the crack trade in Los Santos. Business hadn't been as lucrative as of late, but Ryder still had a new pair of Zip Jeans, a purple, gold and white San Fierro Packers jacket, new purple sneakers, and a fresh purple cap.

Mike Toreno sat in a huddled booth with T-Bone on his right, next to the wall, Jizzy B. in front of him, and Big Smoke on a chair on Toreno's left. "Ah, Ryder, you're late, but it's still good to see you; go ahead and sit down."

_'Damn, why I gotta sit next to Jizzy? This motherfucker always gotta smell like a perfume factory or somethin'.' _"I got caught in…"

"As long as you didn't get caught in our product, who really gives a shit?" Toreno reclined in his seat as Ryder squeezed into the booth next to Jizzy B. "So, I was just telling the guys that we need to cut our losses on this transportation issue."

"What the fuck you mean, cut our losses?"

"Look, it's pretty simple. Our goods are being intercepted each week en route to Los Santos. Your cash is not reaching us. No cash, no supply, it's simple economics, but you would know that if you weren't such a dumb shit," Mike Toreno replied.

Ryder scowled murderously. The middle-aged businessman folded his arms, clad in tweed Didier Sachs suit, over his chest and smiled. Ryder had made men younger and bigger than Mike Toreno flinch when he glared the way he glared at Toreno.. _'Something's off about this motherfucker. He act like he's the baddest motherfucker in the room. I'll show his ass.'_

"We already got it covered. We told you that," Big Smoke pled.

"Right," Toreno replied skeptically, "you said you would have police protection for every shipment to and from San Fierro."

Both Black gangstas scowled at the mocking tone of Toreno's voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" Ryder demanded.

"You trust some uniform-wearing idiota to keep our goods one hundred percent safe and not seize it for evidence or some other bulls-?" T-Bone scoffed at the idea. "This whole operation'll be in jail before you know it."

"I definitely am _not_ down with that plan! I'm too pretty to go to jail," Jizzy bragged.

"Who the fuck told you to talk?" T-Bone growled. Jizzy flinched and leaned into the corner furthest from T-Bone, straightening the collar of his crushed gold velvet suit.

Ryder snickered at the pimp's cowardice. "Look," Ryder whispered, "these cops ain't got clean hands. They ain't got good reputations. They got nothin' to lose."

T-Bone leaned forward until Ryder could count the scars on T-Bone's weathered face. "And you think that makes them less of a threat? No way chico. The only good cop is a dead cop."

"Whatever." Their waitress brought two buckets of Sloppy Fried Chicken to their table. Big Smoke unsubtly pulled a bucket close to him and practically swallowed a drumstick. "Look, we all know that Los Santos is your biggest market. So if you cut us off, you gonna end up high and dry."

Ryder didn't need to glance at the Loco Syndicate for confirmation. It was practically palpable. "It takes too long and costs too much to get our product pushed onto the streets of San Fierro," Mike Toreno answered, "so we'll go with your idea, but with one slight adjustment?"

"What would that be?" Big Smoke asked.

"Instead of moving the product by land, we'll move the product by boat from now on. San Fierro docks to Fisher's Lagoon to East Beach, and reverse for the money. Do we have a deal gentlemen?"

Ryder stood up and shook Toreno's hand. "You bet your pasty white ass."

"Don't get smart with me, kid," the businessman warned, "or I'll rip off your balls and feed them to you for lunch." His gray eyes stabbed Ryder as he rose from his seat. "And that's only the _least_ of what I can do to you."

Ryder continued to glower at Toreno as he exited the bar. _'Motherfucker can't stop me. I ain't scared of him.'_ Jizzy B. in his velvet suit and T-Bone in a clean black tank and gray Victim pants and gray Zip boots followed Toreno. _'I got plans for all of y'all.'_

Once the Loco Syndicate exited the bar, Big Smoke squeezed himself free of his chair with a grunt and picked up a bucket filled with chicken. "Well, I'm glad that bullshit is over. Let's go back to Los Santos."

Ryder stiff-armed the obese gangsta. "Nah, we ain't through yet. We gotta figure out who's fuckin' up our supply."

"Didn't you just hear Mike? The situation is solved; the route is gonna be different from now on. We back in business, baby!"

"Think about it, Smoke. Use that fat potato sack you call a head for once! The motherfucker who fucked us up once can do it again, only this time, our s-'s gonna be at the bottom of the ocean. What the hell we gonna do then?"

"Alright, you got a point." Big Smoke settled into the booth across from Ryder and began chewing on the remaining chicken. "Who you think it is then? The sheriffs out in Red County?"

"Fuck nah, those hillbilly motherfuckers ain't capable of orchestrating a takedown on my plans!"

"Who you think it is then?"

Ryder stroked his goatee and reclined in the booth. He let the dramatic effect build for a few seconds, while Big Smoke gobbled down two more pieces of chicken. "I think it's CJ."

"CJ?" Big Smoke croaked. "Nah, no way, baby! Tenpenny took care of his ass."

"Bullshit, Smoke! Tenpenny didn't do nothin'! Plus, Kendl and that chulo motherfucker ran out Los Santos with a ton of cash and guns." Ryder lowered his irate tone of voice. "Where do you think they went, huh? That cockroach ain't smart enough to stay hidden this long."

"You think they found CJ?"

"Hell yeah, and I think they planned this shit out to take us down too. I don't know how, but I know it started with them three motherfuckers."

Big Smoke set aside the empty bucket. "So what you goin' do, homie?"

"I'm gonna find them motherfuckers in San Fierro. I'll kill CJ my damn self, find that refried beans motherfucker's gun stash, and make Kendl my number one bitch." Ryder smirked. "Chea, I am a motherfuckin' genius."

**Big Smoke's POV:**

Five hours later, Big Smoke pulled his teal Glendale into the underground garage of his crack palace. _'Damn, my doggies are barkin'! Can't wait to get to the hangout on the third floor, check out the new girls from the Pig Pen workin' that pole!'_ Big Smoke chuckled to himself. Ryder had gone to a meeting with several Ballas lieutenants to initiate a few new members. Without his constant nagging about handling business, Big Smoke envisioned an extraordinary evening.

When he reached the top floor of the complex by freight elevator, two SMG-wielding Ballas waited for him outside the imitation mahogany doors. Both were short and slim, wearing oversized white tees, purple shorts, and socks with flip flops, but one was lighter skinned than the other. It was the light-skinned one who spoke. "Aye boss, you got some guests to see you."

"Who?"

"Police officers," the dark-skinned one said in a nasal voice. "We started to cap 'em, but…They said if they went down, the whole LSPD was gonna be down here."

_'Shit, I bet it's Tenpenny and Pulaski. What the fuck do they want?'_ The porcine gangsta strolled past the guards into his apartment. His scowl kept the guards from asking any further questions.

Inside the apartment, the three cops waited in Big Smoke's living room. Someone surprised Big Smoke by putting the obese man in a headlock the instant he walked through the double doors. "Get off me!" Smoke gasped and struggled against the pair of hairy white arms.

"Quit fighting, shit-eating scumbag, or I'll snap your neck," Pulaski warned.

Big Smoke relaxed, but the arms around his neck did not. Tenpenny sat in a plush brown leather armchair directly across from him, hands folded so that the fingertips touched. "Well, if it isn't our old friend, Melvin! How are you doing, you fat fuck?"

Another man approached from behind him-_'It must be Hernandez,' _Big Smoke thought—and patted him down. The third officer gingerly removed Big Smoke's guns and stepped back into the shadows. Pulaski released the headlock and dismissively shoved the fat gangsta to the floor. "What you want, Tenpenny?" Big Smoke gasped, crouched on all fours.

"Don't take that tone with him, boy!" Pulaski yelled. A polished, standard issue police shoe landed in Big Smoke's gut. He gasped for air anew and sensed Tenpenny grinning victoriously above his head.

"I don't think that's enough of a lesson for the little pig. You need to learn some obedience and respect, Melvin." Pulaski chuckled. Tenpenny unholstered his standard-issue pistol and aimed it at Big Smoke's head. "You've got twelve seconds to take off your clothes, or I'll put you outta my misery."

"Aye boss," Pulaski said, suddenly paler than usual, "I don't really wanna see that naked fat a-."

"Me neither," added Hernandez.

Tenpenny aimed his gun first at Pulaski, then at Hernandez. "You two cowards must think I'm going too far, huh?" He lowered his gun to aim at Big Smoke's left hand and pulled the trigger.

"SHIT!" Big Smoke screamed from the five thousand flaming knives that lodged in the back of his hand. He rolled onto his back, cradling his wounded hand in the other to staunch the flow of blood and whimpering like a wounded dog. Two more gun blasts followed from Tenpenny's gun, and Big Smoke winced instinctively. _'This crazy motherfucker's about to fuckin' kill me!' _

A warm piece of metal pressed against Smoke's right temple. "How about you call off the rest of your dogs, bitch, before I turn your brains into a new wallpaper?" Tenpenny whispered into his left ear. He placed a walkie talkie on Big Smoke's chest. It was already crackling with radio traffic.

Big Smoke pressed the talk button but paused to suppress the whimpers of pain battling to leap from his throat. _'My boys don't need to hear how fucked I am right now.'_ "Yo Tyjuan?"

"Boss, is that you?" Tyjuan Reed, one of the most loyal high-ranking Ballas Big Smoke knew, demanded through the walkie talkie. "I'm on the third floor, heard some gunshots from upstairs. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Big Smoke swallowed another cry of pain. He was starting to sweat feverishly. "Why'd you stayed here?"

"Somebody gotta keep these fuckin' fools in security in line boss," Tyjuan laughed. Big Smoke forced a laugh as well, but Tyjuan suddenly snapped to seriousness. "You sure everything is alright, boss?"

"For sure, baby! I'm gonna need some replacements on the fourth floor though."

"I got ya." Big Smoke released the talk button. Tenpenny stroked the side of the fat gangsta's face with his gun. "Motherfucker, I oughta kill yo' ass!"

Tenpenny placed the pistol between Big Smoke's eyes. "You try that, you fat piece of shit, and where will you be? LSPD would hunt you down. You would lose your little crack ring with the Locos. Oh, and you'll be upstate with a whole gang of former Groves who would _love_ the opportunity to do more than shoot you." Tenpenny glowered at Pulaski and Hernandez. "And that goes for you two dumb bastards as well!"

The senior-ranking officer then returned his loathing gaze to Big Smoke. "Is that what you want?"

Big Smoke responded by glaring hatefully at Tenpenny. "Good," said the cop. "So what happened at tonight's meeting with the Locos?"

The gangsta hurriedly and briefly explained Toreno's idea to transport the product by boat and Ryder's instinct that CJ was in San Fierro. When he finished, Tenpenny thoughtfully stroked his chin. "Much as I hate to say it, we gotta get rid of Ryder. And we do that by finding Mr. Johnson."

"What? Ryder is the muscle of this operation!" Big Smoke exclaimed.

"Ryder is an annoying piece of shit midget." Pulaski scowled. "We can't have him trying to kill Johnson. That n- stil has some use in him."

"That's right," Tenpenny added. "CJ's gonna take out the Locos for us."

Big Smoke shook his head in disbelief. _'I can't stop these motherfuckers from doing what they do, but I might be able to get them to see reason.'_ "How are we gonna get crack into Los Santos?"

"With the Locos dead, their suppliers gotta find someone to deliver to," Officer Hernandez explained. "They'll deliver the raw to you; you process it here at your crack hub, and meet the demands of all Los Santos."

"But the only way we can do that is if CJ lives and Ryder dies," Tenpenny finished.

Big Smoke sighed in resignation. His hand throbbed from the bullet wound, as if to remind him of the consequences of disagreeing. "How and when?"

"As soon as we can, but CJ needs to take care of some problems here in Los Santos first."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Make sure that shermhead knows nothing before we take him out." Tenpenny stood up and tossed Big Smoke a mocking salute. The fat gangsta waited until the other two cops slipped their guns into their holsters before he pushed himself to his feet. "I think our work is done for the day, boys. Let's head out."


End file.
